


Written in the Stones

by Lenny9987



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Jamie through the stones, Other, minor Voyager spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 118,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A canon divergent alternate universe in which Jamie inadvertently passes through the stones to find himself in the twentieth century and decides to search for Claire and the child he sent through ten years earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Third Time's the Charm

Jamie had managed to maintain his silence through the first two days on horseback from Ardsmuir. He knew he could have made a run for it but what was the point? The only place where he could conceivably hide was Lallybroch and it was the first place they would look for him. And Lord John was likely as capable a horseman as himself - not to mention that despite the restricted diet of prison, Jamie was still a good deal larger than the English soldier and his beast was not in as good shape as the Major’s. Pushing the beast too hard might kill it and then… 

There was no point to any of it. None of it would bring him what he wanted. No, he wouldn’t think of her or their child if he could help it - the ache of emptiness was familiar by now but the longing got worse when he tried to picture Claire with their child - was it a son or did they have another daughter? And then there was always the chance that those visions he might conjure would backfire as he slept, being replaced with the fear that something had gone wrong, that Claire had died in childbed along with their babe. 

“We’ll stop for the night in Inverness,” Lord John announced, shattering Jamie’s concentration. “It will only be another two or three days before we reach Helwater.”

Jamie merely nodded, looking around at the landscape to avoid Lord John’s curious glance. 

Jamie reined in hard when he realized where they were. It was different in the fading afternoon as opposed to the misty dawn - Culloden. 

Lord John turned back to see what had captured Jamie’s attention, the color draining from his face when he recognized the field. 

“Let us go round,” Lord John said. It had changed in ten years, nature healing the wounded earth where mortars and canon had gouged holes and thrown up the soil. The wounds on the people of Scotland and their way of life were far slower to heal.

“I ken a way round,” Jamie said, breaking his silence before spurring his horse ahead. He had no desire to cross that field again either. 

The few words from Jamie appeared to have renewed Lord John’s hopes of carrying on a conversation.

“I still think of my friend constantly,” Lord John confessed. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to ride across that field again.”

“I lost more than just _one_  friend there,” Jamie said rather snidely. 

“Of course,” Lord John said apologetically.

Jamie pushed his horse a ways ahead, not so he could be mistaken for attempting to run away but because the last time he’d ridden that particular path he had been with Claire - the last ride he’d taken with her, a tragic echo of the first ride he’d taken with her. 

Then it was before him - Craigh Na Dun. He glanced over his shoulder to see how far off Lord John was. He could make it to the stones. It had been ten years but perhaps there was some trace of her yet - some sign that would tell him she had made it safely back. He refused to think of what else he might find.

Jamie spurred the horse on further and faster until the horse began to shy away from the incline, spooked by the stones. 

“Aye,” he spoke trying to calm the beast as he heard Lord John calling his name, confused and concerned. “I ken why ye don’ want to go up but I’m goin’ whether ye take me or I walk.” 

The horse threw him to the ground.

“Jamie!”

Jamie groaned as he rolled and pushed himself up. A sharp pain shot through his hand and a glance showed he’d re-broken several fingers on his right hand - why was it always the right hand? Clutching the hand to his chest he scrambled up the hill. 

Lord John wasn’t very far behind him, dismounting and pursuing him on foot.

“Are you all right?” he called after Jamie. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? Come man, let me see.”

Jamie waved him away with his left hand entering the circle of stones and recalling his investigations the day he’d brought Claire back - the first time, the time she’d stayed, chosen him.

There was something different this time. Perhaps it was the season. The first time it had been autumn - October, Claire’s birthday. Now it was spring, almost his birthday. He could hear the bees buzzing and see flowers beginning to open at the base of the stones. 

He was drawn to the stone that had taken Claire. He wanted her back more than anything - even just to see her again. He knew nothing would happen if he reached out and touched the stone - it hadn’t worked before when he’d been with her the first time. Nothing had changed but maybe the stones would grant him a vision, an answer to the question that haunted him - what had happened to Claire? To their bairn?

He reached out with his maimed right hand and pressed it to the stone. Pain ripped through him as he forced the broken fingers straight again and then he passed out. 


	2. Women in White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jamie regains consciousness, he's not alone

**PART ONE**

 

Voices. There were quite a few of them swirling around in his mind as he began to regain consciousness. Someone gingerly touched his right hand and he came the rest of the way out of it.

“Ahh!” he cried, pulling his damaged hand towards his chest.

“And where might _you_  have come from then?” a warm voice asked from close at hand. The other voices quieted. It dropped to a whisper before continuing, “Or perhaps a better question would be _when_  have ye come from? Hmm?”

Jamie blinked and turned to examine the beings surrounding him. He was flat on his back and there was something hanging about their faces obscuring their features but turning his head to one side, the woman who’d been speaking to him was closer. 

It was some sort of white cloth - they were all wearing them - draped about their bodies and covering their hair. All of it was difficult to see in the moonlight - it hadn’t quite been sunset when he’d arrived at the stones, so how long had he been lying there? 

The woman beside him was older. Her hair was loose but shorter than he was used to women of her age wearing it and it was heavily streaked with grey. 

He started to sit up and she reached out to help him, her arms stronger than he might’ve guessed. 

“Ye’ve injured yer hand there,” she remarked. “Ye should have a doctor tend it… Maybe once ye’ve had a bit of time te… adjust.”

“Who… who are ye?” Jamie asked, still trying to figure out what had happened. Lord John had been calling to him as he reached for the stone and then… Lord John couldn’t have managed to transport Jamie any great distance alone - not in the growing dark - and he couldn’t think of anywhere he could be taken where he’d be tended by so many women - save a brothel, of course but he doubted any brothel would employ a woman of such advanced age, save she was the madam.

“Moira Graham,” she introduced herself.* “And would ye mind explaining who _you_  are and how ye come te be here at this hour?”

“Fraser,” Jamie said. “James Fraser.” 

He thought he saw a light of recognition in the woman’s eyes but another woman from the circle stepped forward and addressed Mrs. Graham. 

“Moira, we canna dawdle about or we’ll miss the sunrise. If we can get him settled out of the way, he can keep till we’ve done what we’ve come to do,” the other woman urged. 

Sunrise. He’d been lying by the stones all night apparently. 

“Right,” Mrs. Graham said with a reassuring nod. “Help him up and to the cars with me, Donella,” she instructed. “Una, have ye got the - yes, thank ye, set them over there. Come then, Mr. Fraser, up with ye.”

He kept his injured hand clutched to his chest as he heaved himself to his feet, wobbling a bit but their hands where there to steady him. He counted fifteen women, most dressed in ghostly, flowing garb milling about the stones - one wore something the likes of which Jamie hadn’t seen before but she ducked behind a stone and soon emerged attired in a similar fashion to the other women.

“This way then,” Mrs. Graham ushered him through the border of stones.

Jamie stopped as he saw an unfamiliar light on the horizon. He was certain it wasn’t the dawn - the sky was beginning to lighten but it wasn’t the edge of the sun peeking up just yet. 

“Inverness,” Mrs. Graham explained. “During the war when the blackout was in effect, ye couldna see it from this far. It took several years before anyone felt safe leaving lights lit through the night like that again but I suppose we’re far enough removed now,” she murmured, her hand pressing his back gently as they moved further down the hill. 

There was a contraption - several, in fact - lined up along a worn section of the terrain that must have marked a road. Jamie blinked but it didn’t help him to make sense of the scene before him - the predawn light was awkward and made everything appear flattened. 

“Sit yerself down here,” Mrs. Graham gestured to the grass at the base of one corner of the imposing object - some kind of wagon, perhaps? “We’ve a matter to take care of up the hill and ye musn’t disturb us while we’re about it. After we’re through, I’ll drive ye into town and we can figure out what te do about that hand of yourn.” She reached out to take it gently in her hands, turning it over to examine the palm. 

Jamie winced at the movement but grit his teeth as she used the tip of her finger to feel along the creases.

“Moira,” the other woman - younger by about thirty years - spoke up, breaking Mrs. Graham’s concentration. 

“Right,” the older woman sighed. “Go ahead, Donella. I’ll be along in a moment.”

The other woman departed, hastening up the hill with a brief glance over her shoulder at Mrs. Graham and the large stranger. Mrs. Graham watched her go too.

“Ye’ve come through then, haven’t ye? From the past I’d expect, judging from yer clothes.”

“Ye mean it worked? But… but I couldna… When I brought my wife… It didna work then - no for me,” Jamie mumbled. The woman already appeared to know about the stones - a small relief when confronted with the reality that he’d travelled…

“How long? What year is it? Where’ve I come through?”

“It’s 1958,” Mrs. Graham told him. 

“Claire,” Jamie breathed her name as his chest tightened and his heart began to pound.

“Mrs. Randall?” Mrs. Graham asked quietly.

Heat flooded Jamie’s veins at the mention of that name - not _his_ Claire, not in this time. Frank’s. The husband he’d sent her back to. Jamie felt sick to his stomach and at the same time he very much wanted to hit something. Instead, he tried to clench his hand into a fist and focused on the pain that shot through his fingers - wherever the fractures were, at least the bones weren’t protruding through his skin this time.

“I canna tarry longer,” Mrs. Graham informed him. “Stay put,” she instructed, motioning once more for him to take a seat. “When we’re through, I’ll take ye home and ye can have a rest - we can see what te do about yer hand - and we’ll see about getting ye settled.”

“Do ye ken my wife? Claire? Where -”

But Mrs. Graham cut him off with a gesture and a glance over her shoulder to the group.

“Yes but I’ll tell ye what I know of her _after_. I must get on now.” And she turned to go back up the hill leaving Jamie to lean against the contraption and slide to the ground.

The side of the strange wagon - or possibly a carriage? - was cool and smooth - some kind of metal though a finer quality than anything he’d ever seen come out of a blacksmith’s shop. The wheel pressed against his lower back was tough - leathery almost but not a material he recognized.

He forced his mind back to the stories Claire had told him of the time she’d left behind, the machines and conveniences - water that didn’t have to be heated over a fire or carried from a well, contraptions that could carry people across greater distances in less time than a horse and carrying greater burdens, some that could even carry people through the sky. This must be one of the land contraptions.

Claire. If he was in her time - which according to Mrs. Graham, he was - then he could find her. It sounded as though Mrs. Graham might know where she was and could perhaps help him… or at least tell him whether or not Claire was all right - the bairn too. The woman had called Claire “Mrs. Randall” so she must have found Frank - which meant there was a chance she wouldn’t want to see him, to have whatever life she’d rebuilt for herself and their child - _his_ child - disrupted. As much as he ached to see her, to hold her again - her and the bairn - he didn’t want to do anything that might hurt them even if it meant letting them go all over again.

The light of the rising sun struck his eyes and he raised his left arm to shield them. The movement of the women on the hill - their silhouettes flickering between the dark shadows of the standing stones and the brightness of the lightening sky - was mesmerizing. His worries about Claire and what to do faded as he let the dancing local women calm his mind.

After a few minutes, their dancing stopped and their movements slipped out of sync. They milled about, chatting and gathering their things before making their way down the hill to the strange wagons, gleaming in the rays of the risen sun. Jamie could make out several different colors and styles to the sleek wagons. He jumped at the sound the first one made when it started and gaped as it rolled off with two women seated inside.

Mrs. Graham reappeared before him.

“Now then,” she muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, attired in something vastly different from the loose white fabric that had billowed about her before - that garment was folded and tucked under her arm. “Let’s get ye into the auto - if ye’ll fit. I handa thought of that. Tuck her knees up like so,” she instructed, opening the passenger door for him and waving her hand for him to hurry up about it. “There. Now,” she rounded the car to slide into the driver’s seat and start the car, “just breathe and start at the beginning of how ye came to the stones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mrs. Graham’s first name isn’t given anywhere in the canon so I was obliged to assign her one myself. After a bit of research, I settled on Moira. [ Read more about its origins and meanings here.](http://www.behindthename.com/name/moira)


	3. The Lucky Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Graham brings Jamie home with her.

Jamie found that the best way to combat the waves of nausea was to lay his head back and keep his eyes closed. It wasn’t quite as bad as being at sea - and perhaps it was a lingering symptom from having passed through the stones - but Mrs. Graham had pulled the “auto” - as she called it - over to the side of the road twice for Jamie to get out and release the contents of his stomach.

Mrs. Graham had patted his back maternally, fingering the rough and grimy fabric with a mixture of awe and distaste before holding out a handkerchief for him to wipe his mouth with. Then she would usher him back into the vehicle and drive a little slower than before until they were crawling along the streets in the early morning. 

“I ken ye want to know about yer Claire,” Mrs. Graham began, having listened to Jamie’s disjointed account of his relationship with the stones of Craigh na Dun. “She’s alive and well and that’s where I’ll leave it for now.”

“And the bairn?” Jamie could hear the note of begging in his voice. “Did... Does the child live?”

Mrs. Graham looked askance at him, hesitation and evaluation evident in her eyes but not her features. “I should ha’ guessed how it was wi’ her when she and her husband up and left for the states so soon after she was found. The Reverend insisted it was the attention and that they wanted a fresh start - which no one could blame them for, given what they’d been through. But I suspected...”

“It lives?” Jamie pressed, ignoring the older woman’s rambling, clinging to a long and worn thread of hope that had managed to stretch ten years - or two hundred. 

“Aye, Mrs. Randall has a daughter,” Mrs. Graham confirmed, watching his reaction carefully. “She’ll be ten in November, I believe. I usually help the Reverend to select a gift to send her, him being good friends with Mr. Randall.”

The reference to Frank failed to rattle Jamie - he was busy wiping away tears of relief, fighting to suppress the sobs that threatened to overpower him. Claire and the child - a lass... They were alive... they were alive. 

Mrs. Graham tapped him and told him to hush and be still. “We’re just about to Inverness now. People will be about and ye’ll need te keep from attracting too much attention. It’s early enough there shouldna be many about to notice ye yet. Ye’re lucky ye came through when ye did, I can tell ye that right now.”

He remained quiet, the knowledge that Claire and their daughter were alive proving soothing enough for the time being. He chanced to open his eyes and gaze out the window though the movement still reverberated uncomfortably through his empty stomach.

Mrs. Graham continued speaking as he observed the changes two hundred years had wrought in the world around him. Jamie couldn’t simultaneously listen to Mrs. Graham and reconcile what he was seeing with the stories Claire had told him so he simply watched as he hoped Mrs. Graham’s chatter would find its way back around to Claire.

“Ye’re the first as has come through to coincide so precisely wi’ our rituals,” she informed him. “At least, in my time. Now my grandmother - when she was teaching me the ways of these things many, many years ago now - she told of one Samhain when there’d been a body found at the stones when they arrived to welcome the dawn. And there have been plenty that have come - and gone - in the days on either side. Mrs. Randall did that - she disappeared soon after and reappeared three years later but early by a few weeks.”

His attention pricked at the mention of Claire. 

“She was lucky to have survived the journey back, as far as I can tell. Few live so far from the nights we gather - few live at all.”

“So it’s happened before?” he finally spoke. “No just Claire but others?”

“Aye. There have been many explanations given aside from the stones themselves, of course. I dinna ken any of them personally - except Mrs. Randall and now yerself, though Mrs. Randall I only ever had my suspicions of till now. Here we are,” Mrs. Graham said as they turned down a lane at the outskirts of the city itself.

The house was set back from the road and though you could see the neighbors’ homes from the yard, it was far enough to be considered private. Mrs. Graham stopped the “auto” and climbed out, holding the door and assisting Jamie in exiting - his injured hand still clutched to his chest. 

“Let’s get ye inside and get some food into ye - ye left more than enough on the roadside and it’ll help settle ye to the difference of things... I would imagine.”

The kitchen was warm - that was the first thing Jamie noticed about it - the second was how _full_  it was. Not with people but with... _things_. Claire had described a great many of the conveniences of the twentieth century but the images he’d conjured...

The light overhead, so much brighter than candlelight - he’d have thought it light enough outdoors but to watch Mrs. Graham flip a switch on the wall and illuminate the room... He wandered over and reached out to touch it with the fingers of his left hand. It took more force than he would have guessed to move the switch - the sudden increase of shadows startled him but he was ready when he turned them back on. 

Mrs. Graham laughed and urged him to take a seat at the table. He obliged, running a hand over the smooth table surface that bore the appearance of wood - right down to the grain - but to the touch was too smooth. He could see the grain but it didn’t register against his fingertips. 

There was a thud from where Mrs. Graham stood by the counter that caught Jamie’s attention. A white... box... with a silver? handle.

“It’s the refrigerator,” Mrs. Graham explained with a smile in her voice, reaching over and opening the door for him to see - it contained shelves that were stocked with... He knew from Claire’s own descriptions that these devices were for preserving food but nothing he could see looked particularly edible. The door closed again and Mrs. Graham pulled a frying pan from where it was hung on the wall. Then she turned a knob on... another box - black this time - and a flame appeared causing him to start. “Stove,” she said pulling a bowl from a cabinet and cracking several eggs into it. If the woman said it was a stove, he’d take her word for it. 

She didn’t have to slice the loaf of bread - it came in uniform slices which she then fed into the mouth of a smaller black box. A minute later - just as the smell of eggs frying began to reach him - the box spit the bread back out, perfectly toasted. 

“Have a piece of this first, to settle yer stomach,” Mrs. Graham advised offering him a plate, knife, and crock of butter. “If that sits well, ye can have one of these eggs.”

Jamie tucked the toast and butter away before the eggs had finished cooking. Mrs. Graham rolled her eyes but smiled as she presented him with a plate of fried eggs and a fork. “I can make ye some baked beans as well, if that isna enough.” 

“Claire,” Jamie said after swallowing a mouthful. “Can ye no tell me what’s become of my wife?”

Mrs. Graham nodded sympathetically and set a kettle on, moving about to fix some tea as she began her tale. 

“When Mrs. Randall disappeared it was quite the stir - more so because her husband kept it up, though ye can hardly blame the man. The police couldna find her, of course, and so it’s natural to suspect the husband for a time. Mr. Randall took that personal and made sure everyone kent he had nothing to do wi’ her going and wanted her back whatever the cost,” Mrs. Graham rambled without looking at Jamie. Perhaps she suspected how difficult that part of the story would be for him to hear and sure enough he felt the usual twinge of guilt for having kept Claire with him - though it had been her choice. But the guilt faded quickly as the longing for Claire overpowered it. 

“Well, after a time, the Reverend convinced Mr. Randall that he would do best to move forward with his life - told him Claire wouldna want him forever stuck because of her.” Jamie nodded - that had been true enough from what he remembered of Claire’s attitudes towards Frank. She had loved the man and wanted him to be happy. 

“Then Mrs. Randall... reappeared. It was mid-April, I believe-”

“Aye,” Jamie spoke up. “Just before Culloden.”

Mrs. Graham’s eyes widened a bit in awe but she nodded and continued. “Aye. It was earlier than we have our ritual and she was lucky to be able to make it through at such a time. Found walking along the road to Inverness by a few of the men hereabouts who place flowers and stones at the Cairns and plaques on the field itself. Like a ghost gone to look for her love lost on the battlefield, they said, wi’ a plaid wrapped round her shoulders and her hair and skirts blowin’ - though... perhaps she was?”

Jamie swallowed hard, the eggs and toast cooling in his stomach and forming an uncomfortable lump. 

“They took her to hospital where the doctors got enough out of her to contact the Reverend who reached out to Mr. Randall and somewhere the newspapers got hold of the story - quite the sensation, her return. Died down after a while - she and Mr. Randall left not long after she was released. Back to Oxford to tie up a few things and then they moved to the states. They’ve been living there ever since.”

“States?” 

“America,” Mrs. Graham corrected. “The colonies - at the time of Culloden, they were the colonies. Now they’re a country in their own right and have been for near two hundred years.”

“And the child - the lass?”

“The Reverend got word of her birth from Mr. Randall sometime around the Christmas of ‘48, I believe. Brianna, I think her name is.”

“Brianna,” Jamie said quietly, tears rising in his eyes. Claire had named the bairn for his father. He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. 

“Now, I’m going to make a call for the physician to come by and have a look at that hand of yers - see if he can do something about it without needing to take ye all the way to the hospital. But ye canna be seeing anyone until ye’re cleaned up and into something more... well, appropriate. I dinna ken where I’ll find clothes te fit ye but there’s a bathroom this way where ye can wash up. I’ll show ye how to work everything if ye’ll follow me.”

Jamie rose, pausing to inquire, “Hot baths?”


	4. The Die is Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's hand needs to be examined

Jamie bit down hard on the cloth as the physician pulled on his broken finger to realign the bones.

"Almost through here, Mr... Fraser, was it?" the man asked, looking up. Jamie nodded. The man turned to Mrs. Graham. "I'll be needing those plaster bandages there, Moira."

The fingers of Jamie's left hand tapped on the surface of the table before reaching in towards his wrist to adjust the cuff of his sleeve. Mrs. Graham hadn't been able to find anything in the house that fit Jamie's form even though the inconsistent food at Ardsmuir had left him leaner than he'd been since turning fourteen - with the possible exception of his times of illness and recovery at the abbey in France. She'd instructed him to wrap the towel around him while she ran to the nearest shop and fetched something. When she returned she had a pale blue broadcloth shirt that buttoned down the front and a large kilt with a plaid in complementary shades of blue and green. 

"I kent ye'd know how to wear one and it seemed easier than guessing at yer trouser size," Mrs. Graham had explained as she tactfully averted her eyes. "D'ye need help wi' it or can ye manage wi' yer hand..."

"I'll manage," he insisted. Aside from modesty, Jamie wanted a few minutes to collect himself as he laid the fabric out to pleat it - not as large or heavy as he used to wear but given how long it had been... He had required Mrs. Graham's help with his shirt, maneuvering his arm and injured hand through the sleeve and then the buttons proved difficult to manage one handed and they were absurdly small and delicate compared to the kinds of buttons he was used to.

Mrs. Graham had called the physician - the husband of a close and trustworthy friend - while Jamie dressed and she brushed and plaited his damp hair for him while they waited for the physician to arrive. He'd caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and started at the sight of himself. Would Claire even recognize him?

"Have ye injured yer hand before?" the physician remarked as he began wrapping Jamie's hand into a cast, his finger rubbing the round scar on the back of Jamie's hand. 

"Aye," Jamie said, removing the cloth since the painful setting was over. "More'n a decade ago now. My wife... she set the fingers for me as best she could. My hand was smashed and... well." 

The physician nodded as he wound the wet strips around Jamie's hand and the fingers he'd cushioned with a bit of something that looked like wool. "I wouldna normally use this method on a hand for a few fingers but where there's prior damage... This'll stay on for a few weeks to give the bones time to set properly. Ye may want te go to hospital and have it x-rayed properly sometime. A surgeon might be able to do something about the joint in that ring finger of yourn." 

"I'll keep it in mind," Jamie promised though he wasn't sure of what the physician meant. Some of the terms sounded familiar, echoes of things Claire had spoken of most likely. 

"Then we're just about done here. Ye must let that dry and dinna let it get wet in the bath or the like," the physician instructed as he began cleaning up his materials to go. 

"Thank ye," Jamie said with a nod. He didn't touch the drying cast that encased most of his right hand just past the wrist but he turned it about to examine it in the light. 

Mrs. Graham ushered the physician out the door trying to keep her voice down as she and the man discussed payment and discretion. She returned to the kitchen and wiped the table down before offering Jamie a cup of tea and something more to eat.

"I'm verra grateful to ye," Jamie told her. "Truly, I am. I dinna ken how I'll start to repay ye for yer kindnesses."

"Dinna worry about that just now, Mr. Fraser," Mrs. Graham insisted. "Ye can stay as long as it takes fer us to get ye settled proper."

"Jamie," he said. "Ye must call me Jamie. I... That is... I dinna feel I can...  _settle_... not until..."

"Mrs. Randall," Mrs. Graham said with a concerned frown as she began sipping on her own cup of tea, contemplating something. She was clearly deep in thought and Jamie didn't want to disturb her but she wasn't saying anything more either. He waited as patiently as he could sipping from the cup of tea she'd given him. He soon drained it and wondered whether it would be too much to ask his hostess for something stronger - it had been some time since he'd had a dram of whiskey and if anything called for it, he certainly felt the events of the last day qualified. 

When he set the cup down he felt her observing him carefully. She reached out and took his cup - he thought to either wash it or refill it. Instead, she looked into the bottom, squinting. She rose from her seat and went to retrieve a pair of spectacles leaving Jamie confused. When she returned, she carried the cup to the window for the better light, rotating it about and glancing up at him periodically. 

Finally she set the cup down on the counter and returned to the table reaching out to him. 

"Give me yer hand," she instructed. 

Jamie didn't know what - if anything - his hand had to do with he desire to find Claire. What's more, the woman already seemed to know where Claire was so it was really just a matter of telling him how to get to her.

Mrs. Graham's grip was firm as she tilted his palm to the light. With her fingertip she traced a few of the lines, muttering things under her breath but nothing that made any sense. She pressed the pad of her thumb into the scar at the base of his thumb for a moment. When she removed it there was a moment where the "C" that Claire had marked him with blended into the pallor of his palm before the blood rushed back in making the "C" more prominent than before. She was nodding to herself when he looked up again and she released his hand.

He immediately touched the mark on his left hand with the thumb from his right - the only finger free from the cast on his right hand. 

Mrs. Graham reached behind her to retrieve his tea cup and have another look. "There's a bow there and that looks like some sort of bird - birds are usually good, but no when they're barred or caged. That cross there," she said pointing and twisting her mouth. "It willna be easy for ye."

"What are ye talking of? What does this have to do wi' Claire?" 

"I'm going to help get ye a meeting wi' Mrs. Randall," Mrs. Graham declared. "It will take some time so ye'll need to be patient. The Reverend willna be happy with my interfering - he's a good friend of Mr. Randall's. But fate brought ye together once and it seems it means to do it again."

"Ye'll help me find Claire?"

"I will. As I said, it will take me some time to find a way to go about it," Mrs. Graham explained, rising to clean up the dishes. "It willna do to just hand over her address to ye and send ye on yer way. It's a delicate situation given yer sudden... appearance. Ye'll need time yerself to come to terms with where and when ye are, time to find ye a place. Are ye handy?"

"Depends on what ye're needing done," Jamie leaned back in his chair. He prodded at the cast which was hardening nicely.

"There're some small repairs about here that ye'll likely be better to handle than myself - a fence needs mending and the gardens could do with a bit more attention," Mrs. Graham said as she surveyed her yard from the window over the sink. "Ye can probably find a bit of work as a handyman till we can find ye something that suits ye better." 

"I've a touch wi' horses," Jamie offered. "Bit of knowledge of farming though... my methods may be a bit... out-dated."

"Ach, there's always folk hereabouts as can't afford all the latest equipment. They'll be happy to have yer strong arms and back te help, I'm sure," Mrs. Graham assured him. "Ye'll be a boarder here for now and I can help ye wi' things like money and how to get some set aside. There'll be government papers needing taking care of as well though I dinna ken which ones or how to get them. It's been some time since anyone's come through this direction that I can recall. I'll have to make some inquiries."

She glanced down at something on her wrist. "I'll show ye to yer room and get ye settled in there before I head over to the manse to see to the Reverend. He'll be wondering where I've got to, I'm sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reference for the tea leaves and meanings](http://www.readingtealeaves.info/symbols_significations.html)


	5. A Change of Plans

Claire removed her gloves and deposited them in the bin for washing and re-sterilizing then did the same with her mask and gown.

She pushed through the doors and headed for the waiting area where Mrs. Charles’ children were waiting for news of her condition.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Randall. I’ve just come from finishing your mother’s gallbladder surgery,” she informed them.

“She’s done then?” a woman about Claire’s age spoke up—Mrs. Charles’ daughter, no doubt.

“Yes. The procedure went smoothly—there were no complications. They’ve taken her to recovery now and you’ll be allowed to see her shortly. I want to keep her here for a few more days’ observation but as long as things continue as they have so far, she should be ready for her release. It will take some time for her to recover completely, but I do expect her to make a full recovery.” Claire smiled.

The son didn’t seem as enthusiastic about her reassurances but she was used to that kind of attitude, especially from male patients and family members. He’d probably head to the nurses’ station as soon as she’d disappeared back through the ‘Staff Only’ doors and demand to speak to a ‘real doctor’ about his mother’s condition. She didn’t have time for those kinds of attitudes so she had made a habit of ignoring them.

“Excuse me,” she told the daughter before leaving the family to discuss their plans for who would stay with Mrs. Charles until she was able to be on her own again.

Claire made her way to the doctor’s lounge area where she proceeded to bend and stretch to work out the kinks after several hours standing at the operating table.

“How’s Mrs. Charles?” Joe asked, coming into the lounge and claiming the sofa for himself.

“She did fine. I have to write it up but then I’m out for the day,” Claire told him.

“Not going to head over to the chief to push for progress on your new contract?”

“Is that where you’ve been? How much good has it done you?”

“I managed to get up from two to three. It’s not the five I was hoping for, but I think I’m going to take it anyway. You?” he asked, leaning over to see what was in the pile of magazine subscriptions that had come up from the mailroom.

“I can’t get them to budge off of one year. I think they’re afraid I’m going to change my mind and decide I want to go back to being a housewife,” she rolled her eyes before lowering herself into a chair next to the sofa. “My daughter is nearly ten and I didn’t change my mind during any of the years of medical school when it would have made sense for me to stay at home with her. She’s in school all day—the odds of my being called because of an emergency regarding Bree are… It’s happened three or four times in… I can’t even remember how many years it’s been now. It’s infuriating.”

“There’s something here with your name on it, Lady Jane,” Joe said with surprise.

“Did they put the subscription to _Ladies’ Home Journal_ in my name again?” she scoffed.

“Take a look.” Joe held out an ordinary envelope.

It had her name typed on the front—not handwritten—and there was no return address but there were multiple stamps and postage marks, one of which read “Inverness.”

She swallowed, suddenly nervous.

There was no note or letter in the envelope when she opened it—just a few sprigs of a pressed plant. She moved to the window, Joe a step behind her to see it better.

“What kind of flower is that?”

“Forget-me-nots,” she murmured. They’d retained their vibrancy though they were more purple than the blue they were supposed to be—a very familiar shade of blue… her right thumb pressed against the silver band on her third finger… the same shade of blue as her daughter’s eyes.

“Any idea who sent them?” he asked, turning the envelope so he could get a better look at the outside.

Her brow scrunched. “No. I mean… the only people I still know in Scotland are friends of my husband. The Reverend _does_ live in Inverness… but there’s no reason for him to send this to me… _or_ to leave it unsigned if he did…”

Joe shrugged. “Hmm. Mystery.” He moved back to the pile of fresh reading material on the table, laughing as he pulled out another gem. “Guess what made its way up from the general reading,” he teased, holding out an already worn copy of Harlequin’s _Hospital Corridors_.

Claire smiled as she glanced at the cover of the beat up romance. “You’ll have to mark your favorites for when I read it,” she instructed but her gaze was already drifting back to the flattened flowers as she replaced them in the envelope and folded the lip over to keep them from falling out.

* * *

The subject of Claire’s contract inevitably came up when she returned home for the day. Frank waited to mention it until after Brianna had gone to bed for the evening—neither of them liked discussing difficult subjects in front of her knowing all to well that she understood more than her nine-and-a-half years would lead many to believe.

“Did you sign it yet?” Frank asked as he sat in his chair and read the paper. He didn’t even look up as he spoke.

“Of course not,” Claire stated. “They won’t budge from one year and I refuse to sign such an insulting contract. The other doctors in my class have been given far better terms—even Joe has three years.”

“You have Brianna,” Frank pointed out. “They’re likely just thinking of what is best for her.”

“Joe has children,” Claire emphasized. “Four of the other men in my graduating class are married and three of them have children—George Hendrix has three under the age of five including a set of four-month-old twins and he was offered a seven-year contract. _And_ he was at the bottom of the class to begin with.”

She could hear Frank’s sigh though he did keep it quiet and she knew he was thinking about how the other doctors had wives who stayed home with the children. He was wise to refrain from verbalizing that point to Claire.

“If they won’t offer you a better contract yet, how do you plan to encourage them to do so before your current one runs out?” he inquired, turning the page without looking at her. “Have you called other hospitals about openings? You could always—”

“I am _not_ going back to nursing,” Claire stated forcefully before Frank could finish his suggestion.

That got him to lower the paper. “I was going to suggest teaching, actually. There might be a medical school interested in hiring an adjunct with experience. It wouldn’t be the same—”

“Bloody right it wouldn’t,” Claire interrupted again. “If I can’t get them to offer me a decent contract at the hospital I’ll find a job at another one—there are plenty of hospitals in Boston. Joe has a connection with one not far from his neighborhood.”

Frank folded the paper and set it aside. “I don’t like the idea of you switching to a hospital in a bad neighborhood just because you can’t get exactly what you want from the one you’re at now,” he said while carefully controlling his voice and tone.

“As if you wouldn’t up and leave the university if they gave you a contract that cut your research funding,” she challenged.

“I wouldn’t switch to an inferior university over it, no,” Frank insisted.

Claire raised her hand to massage her temple. She didn’t want to have this conversation now—or ever—and fought the impulse to snap back at him. Sighing and counting silently to ten helped her calm down.

“It isn’t an issue _yet_ ,” she reminded him. “I’ve decided… I’m going to take off the time I have accrued. I’ll take it leading up to the end of my contract—let them get used to the idea of not having me there to take the cases and patients I handle regularly. When we get back from Scotland—”

It was Frank’s turn to interrupt her. “We?”

“Yes. I thought that it might be nice for Brianna and I to come along with you and make an extended holiday of it,” Claire explained. Her hand went to her pocket where the envelope of flowers was carefully folded and tucked away. “I know you’ll be busy with your research and there’s your conference at Oxford but you’ve told Brianna so much about it all and she’s dying to see it herself.”

Frank cleared his throat and took up his newspaper again, trying—and failing—to adopt a convincing casual air.

“I didn’t think you would want to revisit Scotland given your history with the place. You’ve fought so hard to put your unfortunate past behind you and you’ve been doing so well. Do you really want to risk a setback?”

Claire crossed to Frank as he shuffled through the paper in search of something that would hold his attention.

“Surely you don’t think I’m delusional still, Frank,” Claire said facetiously. “And don’t you find it a bit hypocritical—telling me to ignore _my_ past when you are an historian whose main area of study is inspired by your ancestry?”

Frank clenched his jaw for a moment. “And what do _you_ propose to do in Scotland while I’m busy conducting my research?”

“I’m sure I’ll find something to keep myself busy—Brianna will need to be kept occupied as well. She might find your talk of research interesting now but I don’t expect she’ll remain interested for too long—and you’ll wish to have a break from her now and again to work on your research unfettered,” Claire explained, laying out her arguments for the three of them going together—there were more of them than she’d originally imagined, the proposal not having occurred to her until that afternoon. The more she thought about it, however, the more determined she became. “We can spend some time visiting with Reverend Wakefield in Inverness and we can go to Edinburgh for a few days if you need…”

Frank could tell he’d been beat because there simply were no logical reasons for him to object. He had already signed up for the conference and had been planning on a few days digging in archives and private collections in Scotland—it was all during the summer break and the university would be paying some of his expenses since he’d be representing the school at the conference. As for Brianna and Claire accompanying him… It had been assumed that Claire would be working and while Brianna would be on her summer break as well, there were plenty of summer camps where she could spend the few weeks he’d be away, though they hadn’t signed her up for any yet. It wasn’t impossible or even inconvenient for them to join him; he’d simply been looking forward to making the trip alone. And the idea of being back in Scotland with Claire… It wasn’t a combination that had turned out well for him in the past.

“Very well,” he said, resigned. He folded his newspaper once and for all and rose from his seat. “I’ll look into making the arrangements necessary for the two of you to accompany me. Brianna may not be pleased—she had been looking forward to going to camp with her friends. I’m going to bed,” Frank declared, looking briefly to Claire who had moved to the window.

She could see his reflection watching her and refrained from commenting on what he’d said—both about going to bed and Brianna. He looked annoyed as he turned away from her and left the room.

Brianna wouldn’t be as disappointed in the change of plans as Frank pretended—it was just a subtle way for him to get a dig in at her for upsetting his apple cart. That was the most common snag they encountered in their marriage lately—though it was by no means the only one—the way she affected _his_ plans, the way she upset the small semblance of order he managed to impose on their lives.

First it had been medical school with all the inconveniences of class scheduling and various hospital rotations at hours that were not conducive to raising a young child. Now it was her shifts as a surgeon and the uncertainties inherent in her profession—there was no telling when an emergency would arise or when a complication would turn a routine two-hour surgery into a four or five-hour surgery. This was simply the latest manifestation of the ways in which Claire proved disruptive to his plans.

Frank’s surprise at her suggestion hadn’t been without merit. Claire had long assumed that she would never set foot in Scotland again. Even now the prospect inspired a weak ache in her chest—an ache she was confident would only grow stronger as she got closer; as she saw her daughter standing against the landscapes that would have formed the backdrop of the life they should have had; as she saw Brianna standing where her father had centuries before.

But she was used to the pain of Jamie’s absence now, the sharpness having lost its edge with the passage of time. Her curiosity was stronger than her reluctance. She pulled the envelope from her pocket and unfolded it to examine it once more, running her finger over the Inverness postmark.

It was unlikely she’d be able to locate the person who had anonymously sent her a handful of pressed flowers but her best shot was to ask around Inverness. She couldn’t decide whether she was more interested in learning the who or the why behind them—she supposed the one would depend on what the answer for the other was. The search would certainly keep her busy while they were there.

As she opened the envelope, she caught the faint scent of the flowers themselves. It was faint, like a distant memory. There wasn’t much light in the room to see by and it darkened the shade of the flowers as she shook them out into the palm of her hand. There was an almost translucent quality to them in their paper-thin state. They were elegant in their delicacy but it was a rustic elegance—natural, unforced.

And she could not, for the life of her, figure out why they’d come to her or what it was about them that had made her decide to join Frank in Scotland. It was a gamble, what she aimed to do with the hospital—letting her contract run out in the hopes they’d see how invaluable she was and come to their senses. Much as she would like to march back in after several weeks overseas to find them begging for her to rejoin them under a five-year contract, Claire knew it wasn’t going to happen. Maybe it was some sort of premonition that left her with the impression that if she walked away from the hospital to go to Scotland, she wouldn’t be returning.

Or maybe she just needed some sleep. She let the forget-me-nots slide off her palm and back into the envelope, folding it in on itself once again to protect the fragile flowers from disintegrating. Their arrival had put her in an odd mood and maybe she would feel different about it all in the morning.


	6. Old Friends in Inverness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Frank bring Brianna with them to Inverness where they encounter some old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Sam and Cait reading a passage from this chapter of Written in the Stones: <https://youtu.be/ZT_ItNTdq08>

“Come in, come in,” Reverend Wakefield said as he greeted them at the door, holding it open and ushering them inside. Frank walked through first and was patted familiarly on the back by his old friend while Claire prodded Brianna to get her to move forward into the house and out of the rain. Everything about their journey had Brianna stopping and staring with her eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Leave yer coats on the rack just there—frightful weather for ye to start yer visit with,” Wakefield commented apologetically. “But young Mrs. Graham has tea brewing in the kitchen and she’ll bring it to the library with a plate of biscuits as soon as ye’ve had a chance to sit.”

“Reg, you’ll remember Claire,” Frank said with a nod to his wife before placing his hands on Brianna’s shoulders and steering her to a position in front of him where she could be easily seen. “And this is my daughter, Brianna.”

“Oh, aye, so it is,” Wakefield exclaimed, examining the girl. “Yer father writes of ye often. Though he didna say ye were so bonnie and braw. How old would ye happen to be?”

“Nine,” Brianna declared politely. “I’ll be ten in November.”

“Nearly ten? And so tall already?”

“Yes, sir,” Brianna said with pride.

A flicker of something passed across Wakefield’s face—recognition, Claire thought.

“And how is Roger?” she inquired. Having another spirited child around must put the Reverend in mind of his adopted son at the same age—an adopted son who was now nearly a grown man.

“Oh, Roger is upstairs at his studies. I’ll see if I can’t get young Mrs. Graham to fetch him down shortly,” Wakefield explained as he led them through the house to the library. “I know he’ll want to talk with Frank here about that conference. Roger’s applying to university next year and he plans to study history himself. I’m sure he’d appreciate the chance to pick yer brain.”

“I’m sorry,” Claire said before Frank could speak up. “You keep saying ‘young’ Mrs. Graham…”

“Oh, aye. Ye’ll remember my old housekeeper—well, she’s still my housekeeper but she’s not able to do as much as she used to and her daughter-in-law takes care of the more difficult tasks about the place now. It’s only two days she has to come and Mrs. Graham minds her granddaughter while young Mrs. Graham is here. She was asking after you and young Miss Randall here. Her granddaughter—Fiona—she’s about Miss Randall’s age and she thought it might be fun for the lasses to have the chance to play together while us old fuddy-duddies,” he gestured to himself and to Frank, “have our noses buried in so many dusty books.”

Each time Wakefield referred to Brianna as ‘Miss Randall,’ the girl smiled and at the term fuddy-duddies, she outright giggled with amusement.

‘Young’ Mrs. Graham appeared in the doorway with tea and biscuits on a tray.

“There ye are,” Wakefield said as she came in to set the tray on the table and serve. “Mrs. Isla Graham, this is my good friend Professor Frank Randall, his lovely wife Mrs.—excuse me, Dr. Claire Randall—and their daughter, Brianna.”

Young Mrs. Graham nodded to each of them in turn but she paused for an extra moment when she got to Brianna. Claire wasn’t the only one to notice it. Frank stepped in and took a few biscuits, placing them on a napkin and handing them to Brianna before ushering her over to a chair by the window.

“Thank you, Mrs. Graham. I think we have it from here,” he told her with a polite sternness he usually reserved for his least favorite students.

“Mrs. Graham,” Wakefield called before she left the room. “Would you run up and fetch Roger down? Just for a moment. I’d like him to meet our guests since they’ll be by rather frequently during their stay in town.”

Young Mrs. Graham nodded and left.

“Now,” Wakefield said as he urged them all to sit down. “How long till we lose you to Oxfordshire?”

“I’ll be leaving in a week for the conference at Oxford. It will only be for a few days, so Claire and Brianna will be staying here in Inverness until I return,” Frank explained.

“And ye’ll be taking yer lass to the usual places, I expect.”

“So long as the weather permits,” Claire confirmed.

“If the rain doesna let up, ye might take Mrs. Graham up on her offer to let the two lassies play together,” Wakefield suggested. “I know she remembers ye fondly from your time here after the war and would enjoy being able to uh… catch up with ye.” Claire watched the Reverend grow increasingly uncomfortable as Frank grew obviously tense at the mention of their second honeymoon.

“I’d like that,” Claire told him, ignoring Frank’s disapproval and the Reverend’s discomfort.

Luckily, Roger’s footsteps could be heard descending the stairs and crossing to the library, providing the perfect distraction from the momentary awkwardness.

“There ye are Roger,” Wakefield said, rising from his seat and leading Roger around to make introductions.

“Ye’re here doing more research into some of yer ancestors,” Roger pressed Frank after shaking his hand. “Yer several times great-grandfather died at Culloden, I understand.”

“Yes,” Frank said with an enthusiastic nod. “I’m hoping to finally locate his grave on this trip—his body was never returned to the family property in Sussex but then, he was a second son…”

Claire stopped listening as Frank adopted the tone and posture he used when lecturing. She had no desire to hear him expound on the likes of Black Jack Randall again. She really wished she could tell him the truth and give that branch of his family tree a good shake but she knew he wouldn’t believe her if only because he didn’t want to—the branch that could most do with a pruning would remain intact.

Wakefield stood proudly behind Roger, nodding along as the historians were lost to the present. Brianna had finished her biscuits and moved to stand beside Frank, slipping under his gesticulating arm so that it rested on her shoulder when it finished its arc.

“Mrs. Randall?” young Mrs. Graham said quietly from beside her.

“Mrs. Graham,” Claire started.

“Sorry to trouble ye, ma’am, but my mother-in-law did want me to invite ye specifically to visit her and take tea with her sometime while ye’re in town—no just so yer Brianna can play with my Fiona, though I ken Fiona would like it well enough. She’d be fascinated to meet an American lass.”

“Oh… well, yes. You may tell your mother-in-law that I’d be delighted to drop in on her. Has she had any problems with her health that have made it… uh… particularly difficult for her to work here at the manse?”

“Ach, no—just old age and aching joints. She was able to take in a lodger so she doesna need the income sae much but she’s fond of Reverend Wakefield and comes to cook meals for him a few days a week,” young Mrs. Graham explained.

“Well, if it rains again tomorrow, I’ll be sure to stop in to see her. I’ll need a change of atmosphere and I’m sure Bree will as well,” Claire promised.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the rain did not let up during the night. Claire was surprised, however, when Brianna requested to stay behind at the manse with Frank, Reverend Wakefield, and Roger who were poring over more than just the familiar Randall family tree. The Reverend had documents and records related to Roger’s MacKenzie roots and Frank was detailing his own experiences in genealogical research to guide the young man’s inquiries.

One look between the MacKenzie family tree and Roger Wakefield’s familiar green eyes had been enough to unsettle Claire. Since Frank and the others were fine with Brianna’s presence and occasional contributions to their discussion, she left and borrowed the car to follow Isla Graham’s directions to her mother-in-law’s house at the edges of Inverness.

It was a lovely house with an open yard in front that was afforded a bit of privacy by a thin row of short trees along the main road. With the sky full of grey clouds and everything dank and dripping, the house looked particularly cozy and inviting. She was glad to have been given an umbrella along with the directions but even so the damp was getting into her hair and causing it to twist back into its naturally curly state.

Mrs. Graham met her at the door, opening it eagerly before she even had a chance to knock.

“Isla called to say ye were headed over,” she explained. “It’s good to see ye again lass.”

“Thank you for rescuing me from yet another reiteration of my husband’s adventures in genealogy. He’s gone back as far as he can manage and has started working his way forwards again accumulating as many inane details and souvenirs from their lives as he can find,” Claire told her as she removed her coat. She knew she was complaining a bit but to an ear she believed would be sympathetic. “Bree hasn’t heard it as many times as I have so she elected to stay behind—I hope Fiona won’t be too disappointed.”

“The lass is helping me to bake fresh biscuits in the kitchen,” Mrs. Graham said with a smile. “She’ll no be a bother.”

Mrs. Graham made no move to lead Claire further into the house though the kitchen was almost certainly towards the back.

“You look well,” Claire remarked, uncertain what to do while they remained in the entry way. “Your daughter-in-law said that you’re not working at the manse as much these days.”

“Tha’s right. These knees dinna bend the way they used to. She was already helpin’ me wi’ so many of the larger tasks and in a house that size wi’ the things that man holds on to,” Mrs. Graham said with a roll of her eyes.

There were a few more lines about her eyes that deepened when she smiled and her hair was quite a bit lighter than it had been when Claire last saw her, but Mrs. Graham was as spirited and cheerful as ever. Claire wondered if the older woman still joined in the rituals at Craigh na Dun but couldn’t think of an appropriate way to bring it up in conversation.

“It hasna been as great a burden—caring for this house on my own—as it might ha’ been wi’out the extra bit of income from keeping house for the Reverend. Oh, he’s kind enough to pay me more than he should for what little I still do for him and Roger—says it’s worth it for the meat pies and short bread. I’ve taken on a boarder—”

“So your daughter-in-law said.”

“Aye. He’s a braw fellow and handy to have about. Helped fix a leak in my roof though I told him there was nae need and it could wait till he’d the cast off his hand,” Mrs. Graham said. “Broke it in a fall, puir man. He’s had a rough time of it.”

“Is the cast bothering him? I’d be happy to take a look before I leave if it is,” Claire offered, finally going for it and taking a step into the house, hoping Mrs. Graham would take the cue and direct her to the kitchen.

“He’s actually just in the parlor here,” Mrs. Graham told her in a low voice. “Perhaps ye’d like to meet him now?”

“Oh,” Claire hesitated. “All right. Now’s as good as later, I suppose.”

Mrs. Graham led the way, pushing open the parlor door and holding it open for Claire.

The man had been seated but stood as soon as Claire and Mrs. Graham entered. Claire’s gaze immediately sought the appendage she’d been called on to examine and found his right hand in a plaster cast, the fingers of his left hand tapping nervously against it. It was such a familiar movement… the sight of it gave Claire pause and set her heart pounding. Part of her knew what she’d find when she looked up to the man’s face but even as she took in the red-gold hair, the rich blue eyes, the set of nose and cheekbones, she couldn’t make sense of the familiar face that was watching her in turn.

“Sassenach,” Jamie said quietly.

“Jamie? But… you’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead,” she muttered, clinging to the only truth she’d known for the last ten years. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

Jamie laughed as he turned his right arm around so she could look at the cast. With her focus on that, she took a few steps towards him. Unnoticed, Mrs. Graham slipped from the room to return to Fiona in the kitchen and allow the pair their privacy.

“What do ye think I did to it?” he teased gently. “I broke the usual fingers when my horse threw me—didna want to approach those stones at Craigh na Dun.”

“When? How long have you been here? _How_ are you here?” She had reached out and taken the cast into her own hands, running her fingers over the hardened plaster and bandages to inspect the craftsmanship, refusing to look him in the eye.

“I dinna ken how exactly,” he admitted. “When I brought ye the first time, I touched the stones and nothing happened. This time… I didna… I just wanted to see if there was any sign of ye. I thought… perhaps I’d have a vision of ye. But when I touched it…”

“And… you woke up here?”

“Aye. Mrs. Graham and a few friends of hers happened to be at the hill for Beltane, I believe. She kent what had happened and when I asked after ye… She brought me here and helped fix me up,” Jamie explained.

“Beltane. You’ve been here almost a month.” Claire found she could only speak in such short, factual statements as she struggled to process what Jamie told her—as she struggled to process his very presence. It wasn’t just the idea that he was alive, it was that he was alive and in 1958. He stood before her and she could tell from the feel of his cast-covered hand, clasped between her own, that he was solid and real enough. But seeing him in Mrs. Graham’s parlor—in the electric light and standing just a few feet away from her television set wearing a too-bright kilt and button-down shirt with what looked to be a pair of black riding boots—he was out of context and it made the reality of him being there difficult to reconcile.

“It’s been a few weeks. I… I wanted to find ye right away,” he said, his left hand covering her hands on his cast—it sent a jolt through her, that skin to skin contact. His thumb ran over the silver band he’d placed on her right ring finger more than a decade earlier. “But Mrs. Graham… she kent ye were in the Americas and I… it’s been a time for adjustments.”

The way his thumb moved from her silver wedding band to rubbing circles in the back of her hand mesmerized her. The pounding in her chest and confusion in her mind began to settle.

“You’re… you’re really here?”

“Aye, _mo nighean donn_. I’m here.” He raised his hand and drew his finger from the lobe of her ear along her jaw to her chin, raising it so she would look at him.

“Jamie,” she said tenderly and then closed her eyes and began to cry. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her against him, her cheek pressed to his chest.

“Claire,” he whispered into her hair as he too cried quietly.

 


	7. Glowing Embers

A few minutes later they were seated on Mrs. Graham’s couch, Claire’s fingers entwined with the fingers of Jamie’s left hand, the cast on his right used as a resting place. Their heads were bent together but they were both watching their hands.

“What happened at Culloden? How did you manage to survive it?” she asked quietly.

“At the time I thought it was my own bad luck,” Jamie answered solemnly. He shifted their hands so that he could pull the edge of his kilt up and partially expose the scar that ran up his right thigh. Claire inhaled sharply at the sight of it and pushed the kilt up further so she could trace the line of it with her fingers.

“Bayonet caught me there. No deep enough for me to bleed out,” he said as he rubbed his thumb along the scar’s ragged edges. “Was dragged off to a barn where some dozen or more of us hid but the English found us. They were pulling us out one by one. I heard the shots for the men that went before me…”

“How did you escape?”

“I didn’t,” Jamie scoffed. “Didna want to either. I was more than ready to be put out of my misery. A major—name of Lord Melton—cursed when he learned my name. Apparently he was the older brother of the lad that attacked me before Prestonpas.”

“The one with the broken arm?”

“Aye. The lad had told him of the debt he considered he owed me for having spared his life,” Jamie said with a roll of his eyes. “The major wouldna shoot me with the others but he wasna too concerned about shirking his orders to satisfy his brother’s sense of honor. My wound was festering and I’d a fever running fierce. He set me in a wagon and ordered them to take me home to Lallybroch. He figured I would reach it as a corpse ready for my family to bury.”

Claire pressed her palm against the scar. “Obviously he was wrong.”

“He didna know Jenny would be waiting for me,” Jamie said with a small laugh. “She wouldna let me off so easy.”

“How did she…”

“Water near to boiling.” Claire winced as she pictured it and could feel the blood draining from her face. “Cleaned it out well. I’m glad I was so far gone wi’ the fever though… I can still recall Ian stuffing a rag or something in my mouth for me to bite and to muffle my screams. Took him and a few others to hold me still—even Fergus helped wi’ that.”

“And… you stayed at Lallybroch after that? When you’d healed?”

Jamie blinked before looking back up at Claire and hesitating.

“I _need_ to know,” she assured him tugging the hem of his kilt down.

He sighed. “Aye, I stayed on at Lallybroch but… I couldna stay in the house—it was too great a risk to Jenny and Ian. But there’s a decent cave no far that had room enough for me. Once a month—sometimes more—I’d make for the house after dark for a wash, a shave, and some fresh cooked food. They kept me provisioned and told me what I needed to know.”

“A cave…” Claire murmured. His left hand found hers again, grounding her.

“It wasna so bad there. And then… when Jenny and Ian needed the money for Lallybroch… I arranged for one of the tenants to turn me in to the English—for the reward, ye ken. Just a few years at Ardsmuir prison and then… I came through the stones on my way to being paroled. The major in charge—the same lad whose arm ye set, as a matter of fact—he was leading me to the English manor where I was to serve my parole. Our route took us near Craigh na Dun and…”

“Here you are,” Claire said weakly. “After ten years of—”

“I’d do it again gladly now I have ye here and ken ye’re safe,” Jamie interrupted. He leaned forward and tentatively kissed her forehead.

She pressed her eyes closed and took a deep breath of him. It wasn’t as strong as she remembered, competing with the scents of Mrs. Graham’s soap, laundry detergent, and aftershave, but the familiar scent of him _was_ there beneath them all—a bit of sweat and musk, the sun that seemed to seep from his skin.

“And what about you, Sassenach,” he prompted. “How have you spent the last ten years?”

A quiet smile unfolded on her face and she let go his hands to pull her purse into her lap.

“Well, I’ve gone to medical school and am a proper physician now—a surgeon, actually. I’ve been working at a hospital in Boston but negotiating a new contract is proving difficult,” she rambled as she opened her purse and started searching through it. “But I’d say the most important thing these last ten years…” She located and pulled out a small file of photographs holding it so Jamie could see. The photo on top was the first photo taken of Brianna in her swaddling blanket.

“The lass?” Jamie asked in a whisper.

“Brianna Ellen…” Claire trailed off, unable to say ‘Randall’ at the end of their daughter’s name—not to Jamie. “She’ll be ten this November.”

With Claire holding the small album, Jamie used his left hand to turn from one photo to the next, lingering and occasionally tracing the lines of her profile with the tip of his finger.

“She’s beautiful, Claire.”

“I had planned to bring her here today—to play with Mrs. Graham’s granddaughter—but she wanted to stay behind at the manse,” Claire explained apologetically. “Frank is helping Reverend Wakefield’s son—he adopted his nephew when the boy’s parents were killed in the war. The Reverend has a family tree for the boy going back a few centuries. He’s originally a MacKenzie. I uh… I took a quick look at the genealogy and… I think he’s descended from Dougal—the son Geillis bore him before she was… I’m fairly certain Dougal placed the boy with the couple who left their son on the fairy hill to die,” Claire ended bitterly.

“The Changeling.” Jamie looked up from a photo of Brianna on ice skates—half of Claire was in frame, ready to catch her if she fell. “I remember.”

“Of course. I… Frank has a conference in Oxfordshire in a few days. Bree and I are staying here in Inverness while he’s gone,” Claire detailed in an oddly mechanical tone. “You need to at least see her while we’re here—I’ll… I’ll bring her by when Frank’s away. I don’t… I’ll think of something to tell her.”

“I’d like to see her verra much,” Jamie nodded. “But… ye dinna need to tell her anything if ye dinna want to. I dinna want to unsettle yer lives. It’s… it’s enough to ken ye’re safe… that ye’re happy and well.” There was an edge to his voice that suggested that while it was true, it pained him to think of it too closely.

And it set Claire wondering: they were certainly safe and well, but were they truly happy? Brianna was but she was a child and took such pleasure in little things, it was impossible to gauge her true happiness—was it getting her way, having sugary cereal in the morning, and going to the movies every chance she got or was there something more fundamental at the heart of the child’s cheerfully exuberant nature? Frank and Brianna certainly loved one another as parents and children do… but what about _her_ and Frank? Were she and Frank happy in their marriage? Did that matter when it came to Brianna? 

She looked up at Jamie and felt tightness in her chest and longing in her limbs, even with him sitting only inches away from her on the couch. There was a shine of moisture in his eyes, reddened from the tears he’d shed earlier. Reaching down, she folded the file of photos and carefully set it aside. Then her fingers were at the nape of his neck, ruffling through his soft red curls for a moment before guiding his head down for a kiss. It was warm and soft and familiar; it stirred the ashes in her chest and she discovered there were embers hiding beneath them that were ready to reignite if given fuel. She broke away, her breathing ragged; his breath was hot in her face as he reached his uninjured hand towards her, hesitating to settle anywhere without her direction. She took it in her right hand once more and brought their hands back to her lap.

“That was…” Jamie trailed off, his thumb intently rubbing circles into the back of her hand, his voice rough.

“I know,” Claire agreed in a whisper. “I’m going to bring Brianna to see you in a few days. I don’t know what I’ll tell her yet—there’s a lot I have to think on… to consider…”

“I dinna want to unsettle ye,” Jamie repeated, shaking his head.

“I don’t… I’m not… _unsettled_ ,” Claire said, groping for words. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet but… I feel…” She sighed. “I feel like myself again.” She smiled up at him. “It’s been… I just need time to figure this out,” she assured him, sliding herself under his arm and resting her cheek against his chest.

It was uncomfortable to stay upright on Mrs. Graham’s sofa in such a pose so Jamie gingerly leaned back against the cushion, bringing Claire with him.

“I just need more of this,” she murmured into his shirt. The hand enclosed in the cast came up to meet its mate at Claire’s back and he rested his chin lightly on the crown of her head.

“Aye,” he whispered, unsure whether she was awake or sleeping. “I’ll take as much of this as ye’ll let me.”

They sat there in soothing silence somewhere between sleeping and waking until the hour Claire had intended to return to the manse had come and gone. When they heard Mrs. Graham and Fiona stirring in the kitchen, Claire finally roused herself and reached for her purse with one hand, holding tightly to Jamie with the other. She pressed a hand to his chest, urging him to remain seated as she kissed him once more.

“I’ll send word through Mrs. Graham,” she told him, “which day I’ll be able to bring Bree over.”

He nodded. “I…” but he cut himself off abruptly and shook his head. “Never mind. It’ll keep.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but the phone rang in the kitchen and she heard Mrs. Graham greet Frank. “Why she’s on her way out the door now,” Mrs. Graham said, knocking lightly on the door before opening it and poking her head in. “Would ye care for me to see if I can catch her for ye?”

Claire shook her head.

“Sorry Mr. Randall—she’s already pulled away.”

Claire bid Mrs. Graham a silent thanks, took one final glance towards Jamie, and walked resolutely out to the borrowed car to drive back to Frank and Brianna at the manse.


	8. A Thorough Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire weighs her options.

Claire sat before the vanity mirror with her brush in hand but made no move to tame the mass of curls that had given themselves over to their naturally wild state thanks to the day’s rain. Frank was washing up in the bathroom and Brianna was already asleep on her cot in the corner of their room.

She had come to the conclusion that she felt stuck rather than torn. She felt guilt when Frank walked towards her questioning why she’d stayed so late with Mrs. Graham. “What could the two of you possibly have found to talk about for so long?” His face had changed when he saw her expression. “Is something wrong?”

Brianna had come running out of the library to greet her just then and tell her about what they’d been able to discover of Roger’s MacKenzie ancestors. It was like she was looking at her daughter for the first time. With Jamie’s face so fresh in her mind, the nuances of Brianna’s resemblance to him were starker—their eyes were the same blue and had the same slant, but Brianna’s lashes were several shades darker than Jamie’s; her hair had more of a wave to it as well.

She had ignored Frank’s questions and instead addressed Brianna directly. “Mrs. Graham’s granddaughter Fiona was there—they were making biscuits—and they both asked after you. I promised Fiona that I’d bring you over to play sometime in the next few days. She has a lovely yard where you two can play when it’s dry. Does that sound all right with you?”

Brianna had nodded and then complained about being hungry. They’d bustled out the door with assurances that they’d visit regularly during the rest of their stay and Frank promised Roger to bring him with them when they visited Castle Leoch since it was the home of the MacKenzie chiefs of old.

Claire felt Frank watching her the rest of the evening and she fought to push thoughts of Jamie aside. Frank wasn’t a stupid man by any means, but he could be oblivious and presumptive. He’d been worried about bringing Claire back to Scotland, afraid it would bring up unpleasant memories of the “ordeal she’d endured.” She’d rather he continued assuming that was the case than have him find out the truth about Jamie’s being in Inverness—at least until she figured out what she should do.

In some ways she felt like she was waking up—she was suddenly aware of so much of what was going on around her, including the fact that Frank would only be a few more minutes in the bathroom as he finished brushing his teeth and emerged to climb into bed. Bits and pieces of those first days after she returned through the stones were coming back—there had been so many questions and no one had been satisfied with the few answers she could bring herself to give. The ones that were replaying over and over in her mind at the moment were the ones from a local inspector about who it was that had abducted her three years before—“Is it the man in this sketch?” he’d asked, holding up a yellowed copy of a flier with ‘Have You Seen This Man?’ and ‘Reward’ printed boldly across them. She’d pressed her lips together and shook her head, even as her eyes traced the lines of a face that wasn’t quite Jamie’s but was eerily close.

It had been ten years since then; how much did Frank recall the face from that sketch? So far, no one from Inverness had made the connection and Jamie remained safe but with Claire being in town, the rumors and gossip surrounding the wife who had vanished and reappeared a decade ago might easily be dredged up again to threaten Jamie.

But even though she feared for Jamie, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay away from him—not now when he had been so unexpectedly and miraculously returned to her. The question that plagued her was not whether she wanted to be with him—she ached for him as much now as she ever had.

There was a stirring in the dimness behind her and her eyes found Brianna in the mirror. The child was turning over on her cot and brushing aside a wisp of hair that had come loose from her braid to tickle her face.

What was best for Brianna? Jamie deserved to see her. But what to _tell_ Brianna—if anything; the child adored Frank but didn’t she also deserve to know the truth, as crazy as it might sound? What would it do to Brianna to take her from Frank and all that she knew?

There had been so many plans when she’d carried Faith and after Paris when they’d settled into life at Lallybroch again. She could see fragments of the life they might have had—they had been coming to her in unexpected moments for ten years. Now it was as though the stones and time—which had taken so much from them was offering a second chance—it would never be quite what they might have had in Jamie’s time, but they _could_ be together again… if Claire could set her mind to the task of figuring out _how_ to make it happen—how to accomplish it without hurting the people she cared about _more_.

Frank emerged from the bathroom and Claire began brushing through her curls, stealing glances at him in the mirror.

“Bree’s a bit restless tonight,” she said quietly, switching the brush from one side of her head to the other. “I think she’s excited for the excursion tomorrow. I do hope the rain lets up so we don’t have to postpone—she’ll be so disappointed.”

Frank nodded as he moved about the room checking the locks and windows. “It should be fine. The weather reports suggest it will stop in the night,” he informed her flatly. “Are you finished? I’d like to put out the light.”

She set her brush down and rose from the chair, draping her dressing gown over the back before crossing to the bed as Frank switched off the light. They lay with their backs to one another and after a few minutes Claire heard Frank’s breathing settle into the steady, familiar rhythm of sleep.

She had hurt Frank so much already, first with her disappearance overturning his entire life—the life they had planned together—and then doing it all over again when she returned three years later. If she were to leave him for Jamie—to take Brianna from him—she would be upending everything on him all over again, only this time the blame for it would fall entirely on her. She hadn’t asked for the stones to take her nor for him to stay with her upon her return; but to _leave_ him…

Claire lay awake staring into the darkness of the room, her eyes adjusting so thoroughly she could make out the shapes of the furniture. The stillness in the room and the repetition of Frank’s breathing beside her… She could feel her pulse quickening and closed her eyes tight, striving to control her breathing and lower her heart rate again. Fear. Panic. It was mild but certainly there. She had long ago accepted the life that stretched in front of her and had found ways to make herself content within it… but that was gone.

She had made her choice twelve years before when she sat in the grass in front of a howling stone and looked at the rings on her fingers—one gold, one silver. 

Reminded of that decision, she pressed the pad of her thumb to the silver ring on her right hand—it calmed her. She could figure this out—she  _would_ figure this out. She had bested far more trying situations than the one that lay before her. She was a surgeon; she knew how to make delicate excisions, how to nurture grafts. It took researching the procedure and familiarizing oneself with the patient's body, practicing with analogous materials where possible. And when all was done properly, the body healed and became stronger than before. She could take the lives of others into her hands when she had a scalpel in her hand, so there was nothing to stop her from taking her own life and healing it in a similar fashion. 

Thinking of it in those terms provided further reassurance and peace of mind—enough to allow her to finally succumb to sleep. 


	9. Play Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire brings Brianna to Mrs. Graham's for a play date with Fiona.

Jamie had spoken with Claire on the telephone—an incredibly odd and awe inspiring phenomena that he recalled her having described to him once years before. He’d had little occasion to use the device while boarding with Mrs. Graham thus far, but Claire had called to tell Mrs. Graham that she and Brianna would be coming in the afternoon so the girls could play together. He suspected from her tone that Frank might be in the room with her and that she didn’t feel she could speak with him freely.

He heard the car pulling up to the house but resisted the urge to run down to meet them—above all things he feared overwhelming Brianna, especially since he didn’t know what Claire would have told her about him. He moved to the top of the stairs and listened in as Mrs. Graham and Fiona greeted Claire and Brianna at the door and introductions were made. Mrs. Graham suggested that Fiona show Brianna around the yard—there was the chicken coop where the birds were always willing to be fed and Fiona’s playhouse where they could have a tea party of their own. They had moved into the kitchen so it was too muffled for him to make out whether Brianna had an opinion of the suggestion.

He drifted down the stairs and towards the kitchen as he heard the girls’ excited cries move outdoors and the door shut behind them. Claire stood by the window watching them but turned when she heard Jamie come in.

“I’m afraid I’m a wee bit tired,” Mrs. Graham said tactfully, a quiet smile on her lips as she glanced from Claire to Jamie and back. “If ye dinna mind keeping an eye on Fiona as well, I’m going to pop into the other room and have a bit of a lie down. I should be myself again soon and will be back to help put tea together before ye call the girls inside.”

“You’re not feeling too ill I hope,” Claire remarked, her eyes narrowed at the older woman. Though she suspected the truth, as a physician she couldn’t suppress the instinct to double-check and offer her services should they be necessary.

“Nothing but the need to rest these auld bones a bit. I’ll be fine,” she promised before shuffling out of the kitchen and leaving Claire and Jamie alone.

Even with Mrs. Graham gone from the room, Jamie hesitated until Claire urged him to join her at the window and took his hand in hers before he looked out to see his daughter playing with Fiona. A flash of red hair as she ran ahead of the younger girl towards the trees along one side of the yard; no hesitation as she plowed through the brush and leaves searching for sturdy sticks, tossing one towards Fiona who jumped out of the way in time to avoid being hit before picking it up with uncertainty.

“What’re they doing, d’ye think?” he murmured to Claire, his eyes fixed on the flush cheeks and long limbs of the nine-year-old.

Claire dropped his hand and reached forward to open the window so that they could better hear what the girls were saying.

“But I _am_ a Scot,” Fiona protested. “I dinna want to be the English.”

“We can’t _both_ be Scots,” Brianna insisted. “Who’d be the English then? Besides, don’t you want to win?”

“Not if I have to pretend to be a _sassenach_ ,” Fiona stubbornly refused. “The trees can be the English,” she suggested, turning on the broad, unmoving figures they presented, holding her stick aloft and ready to attack.

Brianna sighed before adopting a similar pose.

“Do ye ken what to call afore an attack?” Fiona asked.

Brianna shook her head but shouted, “Now!” Then she and Fiona ran at the trees screaming and swinging their sticks at the trunks and lower branches.

Claire tensed beside Jamie at the sound the girls created—and likely at least partially in fear that one of the sticks would break or bounce off the trees at an awkward angle and catch someone in the face. Jamie slipped an arm around Claire’s shoulders and pulled her into his side.

“She’s…” he began to say but couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.

“She’s like you,” Claire insisted. “It never ceases to amaze me. She’s a bit better as far as her ability to avoid personal injury, though.” Claire tapped on his cast.

He chuckled. Brianna and Fiona had fallen to the ground laughing and breathing heavily and while Brianna was soon up and ready to go at the trees again, Fiona’s interest in the game was fading. Reluctantly, Brianna followed Fiona over to see Mrs. Graham’s chickens while still holding onto the stick she’d been using as a sword.

Fiona left Brianna at the chicken wire enclosure to run to the house in search of something to feed the birds. Jamie stepped away from Claire before the girl reached the door, opening one of Mrs. Graham’s cabinets and staring into it as though he was searching for something.

“When you’re done with that, why don’t you and Brianna come inside,” Claire suggested. “I have a little something you two could help me with.”

“All right,” Fiona said with a shrug before running off again with a burnt heel of toast from the scrap bucket.

Claire looked to Jamie and saw the tinge of panic on his face.

“What do ye mean to have them help ye with Claire? Do ye truly think it’s a good idea for the lass to… to… What do ye mean to tell her?” he asked.

“Come to the window and calm down,” Claire reassured him.

He hesitated but did walk to join her there once more. Brianna and Fiona were tearing the blackened bread into smaller pieces and throwing them to the chickens. Claire took solid hold of Jamie so that when Brianna and Fiona looked to the house and found Claire and Jamie in the window to wave, he couldn’t go anywhere.

“Wave to her,” Claire whispered. “I’m not going to tell her anything except that you’re Mrs. Graham’s boarder. Anything else you want her to know is up to you.”

Jamie caught Brianna's attention and raised his hand in silent greeting, his heart pounding when she raised hers to him as well. 

The bread was soon gone and the chickens’ attention had wandered. Brianna and Fiona came running to the house where Claire was ready at the door to greet them.

“Yes, Mama?” Brianna asked in a mildly impatient tone. Her leg twitched and it was clear she wanted to be back outside.

“Mrs. Graham’s boarder has a cast on his hand that needs to come off,” Claire said with a glance to Jamie. He swallowed nervously and held the bandaged right hand up for the girls to see. “Would you two like to help me with it?”

Fiona looked at Jamie’s hand with raised eyebrows but nodded, her curiosity getting the better of her. Brianna squinted at Jamie—an expression he was sure he’d worn many times over in his own youth.

“How come you don’t have anything written on it?” Brianna asked.

Jamie looked to Claire. “Am I supposed to? The physician who bandaged it—”

Claire chuckled lightly and shook her head. “No, it’s not necessary. It’s a custom amongst American school children mostly.”

“Howie Miller fell off the jungle gym at school and broke his arm and he got everyone in the class to sign his cast,” Brianna explained.

“Would you and Fiona care to sign it for him?” Claire suggested.

“But you’re just going to take it off anyway,” Brianna whispered to Claire, self-conscious at the idea of writing on the stranger’s cast.

“Maybe he’ll want to keep it as a souvenir,” Claire pointed out.

“Did wee Howie Miller keep his cast when his arm was healed?” Jamie asked, his attention focused on Brianna.

She turned to address him, a smile creeping onto her face. She nodded. “He said it smelled a lot at first and his mom wanted to throw it out but he hid it so she couldn’t and after a while it wasn’t so bad anymore.”

“Well then, if I’m goin’ to keep it for remembrance, I’d as soon it didna look so plain.” He moved to the kitchen table and sat, placing his hand atop the table where it would be easy for the girls to reach.

Claire fetched her purse to see whether she actually had a permanent marker for the girls to use. Brianna and Fiona took up seats on either side of Jamie while they waited. With only one marker on hand, the girls were then forced to take turns using it—with mixed success—until Mrs. Graham emerged from the hallway with a request that Fiona please come help her retrieve something she’d dropped behind a dresser.

“I need the lass’ arm, ye ken,” she explained to Jamie and Claire. “My own are too big to fit.”

Claire’s eyes met Jamie’s over Brianna’s blissfully unaware head—she was busy sketching stars and hearts on the awkward surface of the plaster cast before moving onto the letters of her name.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

“Well… why don’t ye call me Mac,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Mac? Is that your name?”

“Not exactly but it is a name I answer to. The last place I lived, most of the men there called me that. Mac Dubh.” His voice was quiet and gentle and though Claire stood only feet away, it was like the room had shrunk to just the two red heads bent together at the table.

“Can you spell it?” As he did, she carefully drew the letters. “It’s not spelled how it sounds,” she remarked, skeptically.

“No,” he chuckled. “No much of the Gáidhlig is.”

“What does it mean?”

“Well, my da had the blackest hair ye ever saw,” Jamie began slowly. “So they called him Black Brian. And in the Gáidhlig _,_ ‘dubh’ means ‘black.’ So ‘Mac Dubh’ means I’m the son of Black Brian.”

“Oh,” Brianna said with a nod of understanding.

Jamie looked up to Claire who grinned on at them. “Bree, would you mind keeping Mac company while I go fetch the tools I’ll need to remove his cast?”

Brianna nodded and smiled at Claire while Jamie’s eyes went wide for a moment as Claire walked out of the room. Brianna turned back to her task and Jamie searched for something else to talk about with the young girl.

“That’s a pretty ribbon ye have in yer hair there,” he remarked of the plaid bow that was hanging a bit loose after her outdoor adventures with Fiona. It was like most of the tartans he’d come to see about Inverness since his arrival—bright and an unfamiliar pattern.

He’d read in the books of history Mrs. Graham borrowed from the Reverend Wakefield’s library about what the English had done to Scotland and the Highlands after Culloden—he’d forced his way through the texts though he’d had to put them down from time to time when he came across infuriatingly glowing descriptions of the misery that had been heaped upon him and his people.

Of the tartans specific to the clans, the patterns and colors he knew had been lost—the English had been effective in executing their objectives and only now were questioning the wisdom of what they’d done, lamenting the history that had been lost. His fellow Scots of course, had objected as effectively as they could all along, doing what they could to rebuild and recreate what had been lost wherever possible.

“Mama bought it for me when she went to Edinburgh the other day,” Brianna informed him, reaching up to touch the loose ends of the ribbon.

“And did _you_ visit Edinburgh with her?”

“No. Daddy took us to see Culloden but Mama said she saw more than enough of battlefields during the war and would rather go shopping in Edinburgh than march across another dusty plain,” Brianna recited. “She was a nurse but now she’s a doctor. How did you break your arm?” She poked at the exposed tip of one of Jamie’s fingers with the marker, leaving a small black dot in the center. He twitched the finger as best he could and she laughed, taking firmer hold of his wrist and drawing the rest of a smiling face on his fingertip.

“I was thrown from a horse,” he explained when she’d finished. “Landed hard and broke these two fingers,” he tapped them with the other hand. “Mrs. Graham brought the physician here to tend my hand. He didna have the… equipment, he called it, to see whether I’d broken more than that or no—though… I dinna think I did. He decided to bind it all to be safe.”

“X-ray,” Claire said as she moved from the doorway back to the table. “The equipment used to see the bones beneath the skin—it’s an X-ray machine.”

“Aye, tha’s what he called it,” Jamie finished.

“Is there any space left on that cast?” Claire asked, standing next to her daughter with one hand on her hip and the other reaching out to caress her daughter’s ruddy head. Brianna looked up with a smile. “Why don’t you go help Fiona with whatever it is Mrs. Graham has lost. I promise I won’t begin until you’re both here to help.”

Brianna scooted from her chair and wandered down the hall towards the sounds of furniture scraping across the floor. Claire took Brianna’s seat next to Jamie who began breathing loudly as though he’d been holding his breath while Brianna was close—perhaps afraid he’d let too much of the truth slip out. She picked up the permanent marker and examined the surface of his cast, finally locating a strip on the underside that was relatively blank.

“Are you doing all right?” she asked as she began to carefully leave a mark of her own.

“Aye, she’s… Thank ye, Claire, for bringing her by… for letting me see her—even like this. She’s a braw lass and sae smart, the way she latches on to the wee details of things. I dinna think she...” He trailed off, craning his neck to see what she was writing but the angle was too awkward and her grip on his arm too much for him to overcome comfortably. “She said ye wouldna go wi’ them to Culloden Moor.”

Claire finished with her scrawling and capped the marker, pressing it against the tabletop until it clicked into place. “There’s only one person I could stand seeing that battlefield with so if you want to go while Frank is at his conference…”

“I dinna ken if I’m ready for that,” he agreed with a shake of the head. “I’ve no left Inverness since Mrs. Graham brought me here. I’ve papers now—someone of the ladies as was on the hill when I came through has a fellow who was able to arrange for them. But there’s nowhere I feel a need to be now ye’re here.”

Claire smiled, her eyes wet, and she turned the cast around so he could see what she’d doodled. J + C = B

Brianna and Fiona came charging back into the kitchen with Mrs. Graham a few steps behind. Claire took a bottle of isopropyl alcohol and a cloth to wipe down the sturdiest pair of scissors Mrs. Graham could find, a pair of pliers, and the pruning shears before replacing them on the table next to some cloths and a pencil. She went to fetch a bowl of water as the last thing before starting the procedure. Tying her hair back, she took hold of Jamie’s bandaged hand with one of hers and held her hand out towards Brianna, palm up and open.

“Pencil,” she requested without looking at the girls.

Brianna grinned and grabbed the pencil, carefully placing them into her mother’s hand—handle first—and repeating, “Pencil.”

Claire took the pencil and traced a line along the outer edge of the cast. 

“Scissors,” she said handing the pencil back. 

“Scissors,” Brianna responded, passing the pencil along to Fiona as she handed the scissors to her mother. 

Claire opened the scissors and eased them between the hard plaster casing and the batting underneath, careful not to nick Jamie in the process. “I’m going to be as gentle as I can,” she explained as she squeezed the handles together with considerable force successfully making a minute cut in the cast. “Nope, it’s going to take the shears,” she said, setting the scissors aside after picking a small wedge of the plaster from the joint. She held her hand out again and Brianna placed the shears in her mother’s hand like a dutiful surgical nurse.

The shears proved more effective, cutting through the plaster cast along the inside edge of his arm. Jamie braced his right arm with his left hand. His anxiety must have shown in his face for Brianna spoke up. “Don’t worry, Mac. You’ll be fine. Mama’s done this plenty of times. She works at a hospital.”

Claire smiled but her back was to everyone except Jamie so he was the only one who saw it.

“Aye. I trust yer mam right enough. But I dinna trust myself. She might have good aim, but I dinna mean to make her work wi’ a moving target.”

With the cast cut all the way along the inside, Claire set aside the shears, and turned to Mrs. Graham. “Do you have a knife I can borrow? I need to score the plaster along this edge here,” she traced with pencil once more, “then I can force it open enough for you to get your hand free.”

It took less time to score the plaster and with the pliers Claire was able to crack the cast a bit along the scored seam, then moved them to the side she’d used the shears on and wedged the pliers into the slit and pulled the edges open enough for Jamie to get his hand out. Some of the batting was caught on the webbing of his fingers and Claire asked Brianna to cut that loose for him.

Setting the empty cast to the side, Fiona soaked one of the cloths in the bowl of water, which Brianna then wrung out and handed to Claire. She set about washing down Jamie’s arm and hand, cleaning it of dirt and grime from the last few weeks. Bored now that the interesting part was over, the girls headed back outside.

Jamie’s hand was pale and a bit atrophied from its weeks in the cast. Mrs. Graham followed the girls outside without a word and Claire pulled the bowl of water over to make washing his hand easier. She traced the lines along the tops of his fingers—marks left by her ministrations after his time in Wentworth Prison.

“I must say, I prefer the cast the physician gave me this time to the contraption I had my hand in last time,” Jamie remarked, his thoughts going to the same place as hers. He tried to make a fist. “Those fingers are still stiff though… and weak.”

Claire set the cloth aside and took his hand in both of hers to massage it. “The strength will come back with time along with some of the dexterity. But the fingers… You might be able to have something done surgically now that you’re here. I could have a colleague of mine who specializes in orthopedics take a look at your x-rays—you’d have to get them done, of course—but he might know of a procedure that could fix the joints for you.”

“I thought _you_ were a surgeon now, Sassenach,” he remarked with a teasing smile.

“My specialty is general surgery though I work a bit of emergency care as well,” she informed him.

“When does Frank have his conference?”

“He leaves tomorrow,” she answered, unfazed by the sudden change in topic. “He’ll be in Oxfordshire for a week and then we’ll stay another week after his return before going back to Boston.”

Jamie nodded briefly before leaning back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

“One of the days Frank is gone… That is… There’s a music festival that Reverend Wakefield and Roger attend every year and they’ve volunteered to take Brianna with them—Mrs. Graham, her daughter, and Fiona will be going too, so Brianna will have plenty of company.”

“You… dinna mean to go wi’ them?” Jamie frowned.

“I had something else in mind—somewhere I wanted to go with you. We _could_ take Brianna but… I don’t see how… It’s something I think would be best done on our own,” Claire stumbled through her vague explanation. “That way I can tell her I was running errands and there’ll be no need to worry about her letting something slip.”

“Ye dinna want Frank to know,” he remarked flatly.

“No, I don’t. There are still… I’m not ready to tell him anything yet,” she responded quietly. “I’ll pack a lunch for us and will pick you up here after I’ve dropped Brianna off at the manse for the day.”

“And ye’re no going to tell me where it is ye want to take me?”

“Not yet, no.” She released his hand and grabbed a few scraps of cloth, balling it up and placing it into his palm. “I believe you remember the exercises that will help you rebuild the strength in your hand.” He squeezed the wadded cloth, his fingers trembling with the effort.

“If ye’re going to bring me anywhere in one of those wheeled contraptions, ye should ken that my stomach’s only a wee bit steadier traveling across land in such a fashion than it is at sea,” he warned.


	10. The Weight of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire surprises Jamie with a trip to Lallybroch.

Leaving the windows down helped to curb Jamie’s feelings of motion sickness as Claire drove them into the countryside. Claire asked him questions about his time in the twentieth century so far, what he made of it and how he was adjusting.

“Ye told me a fair bit about it, Sassenach, but… ye didna do it justice,” he informed her wryly. “It doesna smell right—though the hot baths _are_ heavenly after a day of hard laboring—but for all everything is so clean, it doesna smell so fresh. And the food is… plentiful,” he finally settled on as Claire laughed.

They crested a hill and as the car began to dip downwards Jamie leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and clutched a hand to his anxious stomach.

“Will ye no tell me where we’re headed or how long it will take to get there—I canna take much more of this,” he murmured, his good humor momentarily strained.

Claire pulled the car off to the side of the road and stopped it. “Get out and see,” she told him gently.

“We’re there?” he asked skeptically, peeking out of one eye at her before straightening up.

“Nearly.” They both pushed open their doors and stood looking down into the valley.

“Lallybroch,” Jamie whispered stunned at the sight. “The broch is still standing,” he remarked with a hint of amazement. “Though, ye can see there’s damage near the top. The roof needs some repairs—on the main house there as well.” He appraised it from a distance while Claire’s attention was focused on him and his reaction. “Can we go see it closer, d’ye think? Will they let us walk around a bit?”

“I looked into the property and it’s actually for sale,” she told him waiting for him to climb back into the passenger seat.

His head shot round to look at her. “For sale? Then… who owns it that they’re trying to sell it? Not…”

“The bank owns it, I’m afraid,” she answered quietly, realizing what he meant. “I didn’t have time to get a long history of the property so I don’t know when the Murrays sold it… but that’s almost surely what happened,” she insisted. “It doesn’t mean that anything… A lot has happened in two hundred years. It was a large estate and house that took a lot of people to run.”

His gaze had drifted back to the house in the distance.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she said. Perhaps she hadn’t thought things through enough—what it would do to him to see the place again, to see what time had done to it.

“No,” he said with a determined nod. “I want to go. I dinna want my last memories of the place to be of the Red Coats dragging me off for that sham of a trial and prison. I want to remember the way it was when _you_ were there wi’ me.”

With that, he returned to the car and they set off once more for Lallybroch’s main gate. The pavement ended as the road curved and continued on towards Broch Mordha leaving the last stretch up to the main house a rough path of dirt and gravel, which crunched beneath the tires of the car.

As they stepped out of the car once more it was impossible not to feel an odd sense of belonging, even as they turned and examined the rundown yard and dilapidated exterior of the house.

“I can’t imagine anyone’s lived here in some time,” Claire remarked. “Not in this state anyway.”

“Aye,” Jamie murmured, not really listening to Claire. It was quieter than he’d ever heard the Lallybroch yard. Even when all the folk were away from the house—such a rarity that he could count on one hand the number of times it was likely to have ever occurred—there were always animals present, life present—chickens scratching in the yard, dogs lying in the dust to guard the house and property, the sounds of horses and cows in the barn or pastures. Now he couldn’t even pick out the sound of a single bird in the nearby woods, though he knew they had to be there.

He looked instinctively to the corner of the house as though expecting Jenny to come round with a basket of laundry in her arms or Ian to slowly emerge covered in dirt and muck from tending the fields or the horses, but there was no one there. Claire had moved to an empty pot near the steps to the main entrance. Whatever plant had resided there had long since shriveled and blown away. She shifted the heavy pot and emerged with a key.

“The agent I spoke to mentioned where I could find the key and offered to meet us for a more formal tour but I made excuses so we could see it alone,” she explained, brushing the key off and handing it to Jamie.

He examined the key in his palm, the metal worn but distinctly modern in its construction, small and sharply cut along the blade. Before he put the key in the lock, he sought the gouges in the doorframe and lightly ran a thumb along the nicks in the wood half expecting to catch a splinter but it had been worn smooth by time.

“What is that?” Claire asked, reaching out and touching the gouges herself.

“They’re from the Red Coats’ blades,” he said quietly. “Wasna enough to simply descend on the estate and take what they could get their hands on—they had to leave a mark that would last when they were gone. Ian could ha’ replaced the beams but he left them as a reminder of what had been survived. I’m surprised it hasna been replaced since,” he remarked with a note of awe. “Aye, well… let’s see how she’s fared then,” he muttered, stepping up to the door and unlocking it.

It swung open with a prolonged creak and a waft of musty air that caused Jamie to sneeze. Claire entered two steps behind him as he took a few large steps into the space before stopping abruptly.

“It seems so much larger than I remember it,” Claire remarked, slowly moving past Jamie into the vast open area of the main hall.

“None of the furniture or trappings,” Jamie pointed out in a manner so flat and matter-of-fact it caused Claire to look up at him with concern. He’d forced his features into stoicism, still so trained to hold himself back even from her. “It opens the space up.”

Claire had crossed to the mantle over the fireplace. Extra ventilation had been installed at some point and she noticed wires along the baseboards and electric outlets. It had been a long time since she’d been jarred by the twentieth century having been back for ten years but Jamie’s reappearance in her life had brought so many of those everyday luxuries back into focus, reminding her that they _were_ luxuries rather than necessities; and to see those marks of the twentieth century in Lallybroch felt… wrong.

Jamie still hadn’t moved from where he stood in the hall so Claire returned to stand beside him. She watched him for a moment longer before slipping off to explore the kitchen.

It was the room that had been changed the most to accommodate modern conveniences One side of the kitchen had been gutted and the wall likely demolished and reconstructed to bring in a large basin sink and cast iron stove—the pipe from the stove vanished into the wall and based on the seams where the brickwork had been fixed, she decided it must run into the flue used by the original fireplace. That large hearth space with the brick ovens built into the side had been transformed into a storage pantry so that the brickwork and shape of it remained intact. The pass between the kitchen and the serving area—which lead into the main dining room—was similarly untouched along with the massive preparation table, though it was distinctly newer in it’s construction and design than the table she remembered.

Jamie peered through the opening from the serving room side leaning against the reinforced frame. “Now this…” he shook his head, “this is…”

Claire moved to the sink and turned the tap. There was a gurgling noise from the pipes that was discouraging so she turned it back.

“It’s stuck somewhere between,” she commented, backing away. “Not quite up to twentieth century standards but certainly not eighteenth century anymore.”

“Yet… the look of it… the feel of it…” he moved through the door and crossed to the converted hearth. “Whoever did this work wasna trying to rid it of the old…” He ran his hand inside the space along the brickwork that had been done to seal it off. “Only bring in the new.”

“You could probably put special doors here,” Claire mused as she ran her hands along the edge of the space, “and there and there,” she pointed to the smaller ovens built into the wall of the cooking space she’d once used with Mrs. Crook and Jenny.

“And what of yer old still room,” Jamie pondered leading the way around the corner but he stopped before he reached it. She found him staring down at the trap door that lead to the root cellar and the more carefully concealed door that lead to the priest’s hole.

Claire came up behind him to see what was the matter. She moved to reach for him but he turned and left, striding purposefully back through the kitchen and out the back door into the yard on the other side of the house from where they’d parked.

Claire hurried after him but he had dressed for poking around the main house rather than the property itself. Her skirt was more confining through the hips and thighs than those she’d worn centuries earlier so lifting them to free her knees only improved her mobility to a small degree. The untended grounds were overgrown and the taller grasses bit at her legs—she would have runs in her stockings when she finally stopped to check.

The path Jamie cut was instinctive, habitual. He headed straight towards the woods across the nearest field. Once in the trees, it was more difficult for Claire to follow but Jamie’s pace slowed as he paused to gaze at the flora and fauna around him. Two hundred years had raised the canopy by several feet. It was necessary to double and triple-check the landmarks he had used to find his way as storms had removed some of the older trees and while new ones had sprouted elsewhere.

“Jamie!” Claire called as she followed him up a slight incline to a rocky outcropping. He had stopped at the base and was looking at something she couldn’t see. “Jamie,” she said again, coming up beside him breathing heavily as she fought to catch her breath. “What… what is it? What happened?”

“The priest’s hole,” he said flatly as though it were explanation enough.

“At the house… but… why are you—oh.” She followed his gaze but still couldn’t make it out from where she stood. “The… Is that the cave up there? The one where you…”

He nodded.

“You don’t have to…” she started to say.

He slowly reached out and took her hand, guiding her up to the concealed mouth of the cave. “Take care,” he warned, “the stones are smoother than I remember.”

“The erosion of time I suspect,” she said as the paused to regain her balance before taking another step.

As they reached the top, Jamie paused leaning against the stone of the outer wall as he peered inside. Claire rested her hand on his shoulder and slipped around him to ease her way into the cave to see it for herself.


	11. God Bless the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie discuss the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains NSFW material.

It was a difficult maneuver to manage in her skirt with the entrance angled down more than she had pictured but Claire succeeded.

“The ceiling is a bit higher than I imagined,” she told Jamie. She didn’t have to raise her voice much thanks to the echo. “Not as deep though.”

There was a low thump behind her as Jamie slid into the cave. Despite her comments about the height of the ceiling, he still needed to duck to keep from hitting his head.

“It’s just as I remember,” he remarked in a quiet voice raising his arm to press it against the bare stone overhead. He rested his head against his forearm. “I would make a wee fire just there,” her pointed. “It was near enough the entrance to keep the place from fillin’ wi’ smoke but far enough it didna stream out so as to be obvious and give me away. I didna build a fire often except when I managed to catch game—the hunting… it wasna so easy at night and that was when it was safest for me to risk it.”

“And how did you spend your days?” Claire inquired.

“I read a great deal. Tried to sleep when I could and managed when there were clouds about—so long as they didna drop rain.” He moved to the opposite side of the cave and gingerly got to his knees before rolling to his back. Bracing himself against the wall, he adjusted his position until it was just right. “Aye. This was where I slept wi’ a dull blanket drawn up and over me and the dunbonnet coverin’ my hair.”

“You slept with your head towards the entrance?”

He used his hands to drag himself closer to the mouth of the cave. “Aye. It was necessary for the light if I wanted to read. And at times, I’d watch the sky—as the day wore on towards night and the colors shifted, though more often all I had to see were the clouds passing overhead. But it was easier to believe I was truly free when the sky was in sight like that. And when the stars came out at night…”

Claire moved to join him ignoring what the dirt and stone would do to her skirt. Her curls proved a decent pillow though she could still feel the cold hard rock beneath. She had to crane her neck to make out a streak of blue-grey sky between the tree boughs.

“The leaves didn’t get in your way?”

“Sometimes,” he told her. “But the stars would peek between them to shine… and I’d… do ye recall what ye told me once about stars?”

Her brow furrowed and she turned her head to look at him—he was already looking intently at her. “About their light, right?”

“Aye. Ye said that the light from them took so long to get to where we could see it that the star itself might ha’ long since gone dark. I wondered—and still do—if there are any that I saw when I watched them here that ye couldna see anymore were _you_ to look up at them.”

Claire smiled and began to hum, though she knew it wouldn’t register with Jamie without words, so she picked up with the lyrics after a moment as they came to her.

“ _I see the moon and the moon sees me,_

_The moon sees someone I long to see._

_So God bless the moon and God bless me,_

_And God bless the someone I long to see_.”

There were a few silent beats before Jamie smiled and said, “Aye. Something like that I suppose.”

“It’s a lullaby or a nursery rhyme or something. I’m not sure how old it is and I don’t know where I heard it first… my own mother perhaps… I used to sing it to Bree when she was a baby and woke up fussy at night,” Claire explained. She felt herself flush and wondered if Jamie could see it in the half-light that reached them in the cave.

“I prayed for ye near every moment of every day, Sassenach—you and the bairn… that ye might be safe,” Jamie said with a catch in his throat.

“And it worked,” she assured him as rolled toward him and slid her hand over his chest as she curled up against him. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “We have been safe. And now you’ve found your way to us.”

She kissed his shoulder and pressed her forehead to his cheek, nuzzling against him, breathing in the scent of him—the sweat from their excursion through the woods, the dust of the house, a faintly sour note that had to be related to the nausea he felt during the car ride.

“Claire…” he breathed. His hand found her wrist where it pressed to his chest and his fingers trailed lightly along her fine skin.

“Shh,” she purred before finding his lips in the shadows of the cave. His grip on her hand tightened as she deepened the kiss, her tongue seeking his.

He pulled back shaking his head. “Claire… we… we canna…”

His rejection stung and in her confusion she pulled away sharply, her hand brushing his clasp easily.

“I thought…” she stammered but the hurt welled up and choked her.

“It’s no that I dinna want ye,” he insisted and even in the low light of the cave she could easily make out how prominent his desire was.

“Then what is it?” she pleaded.

“Ye’re… ye have a husband here,” he reminded her sadly, “and it’s no me.”

She took a deep breath and pressed herself to him again ignoring the way he tensed at her touch.

“ _You_ are my husband,” she reminded him in turn. “I made my choice the first time you brought me to Craigh na Dun—I chose _you_.”

“Claire…” Jamie was shaking his head again with that edge of resistance in his voice—the edge he got when he was making an effort to be noble, to be self-righteous.

She wouldn’t allow it. “I’m leaving Frank,” she told him definitively.

“Ye canna do that—no for me,” he continued to object.

“I’m not,” she insisted with a sharp edge to her voice and pulling further back. “I’m doing it for _me_ —I’m doing it for Bree.”

“Uprootin’ her from all that she kens? Ye think tha’s what’s best for her?”

“When _lying_ to her is the alternative? Yes. I think she deserves to grow up knowing the truth of where she comes from,” Claire snapped, sitting up in the cave and looking down at Jamie. “You can’t just waltz into our lives after all this time and expect me to turn a blind eye to you and pretend you’re not there—I’ve been trying to do that for the last decade when I truly believed you were dead and I’ve only barely managed.”

“Claire…”

“I’m leaving Frank whether you want to be part of our lives or not. You coming back… it’s only forced me to face something I already knew but have been ignoring—for Brianna’s sake,” she said in a calmer and slightly sad voice.

Jamie propped himself up on his arm.

“What?”

“I don’t love him the way I did once—and certainly not the way I love you. I thought we could make it work for Brianna’s sake—so that she’d have a home and a family,” Claire rambled. “But it’s not quite right and I don’t want it to turn into something that… that twists her understanding of what it should be like. Perhaps that kind of family is better than none at all but if there’s a chance… I think that with you… I _know_ it would be different with you. We can’t have _all_ the things we wanted then but we can make something for ourselves here—something for Brianna. But if you don’t want to try—if you don’t want _me_ …”

“I’ll never not want ye, Claire,” Jamie asserted, reaching up with his free hand and cupping her cheek, stroking her bottom lip with his thumb.

She bent to kiss him and his hand slid from her throat to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her curls. She let herself sink into him, into his kiss as he shifted their position so that she was beneath him, the heavy fabric of his kilt hanging and brushing her thighs through the fabric of her own skirt stretched tight across her legs.

“Do you… know what day… it is?” She asked as he punctuated his movements with kisses—he appeared to be afraid of striking his head against the ceiling of the cave as his knee sought to urge her legs apart but her skirt hindered operations.

He paused in his efforts to think and as he did so, she reached down between them and tugged the hem of her skirt past her knees and it slid the rest of the way up her legs much easier. Raising her hips, she pooled the fabric around her waist and lowered her buttocks to the cold, rough stone that served as a floor for the cave.

Jamie looked down at her as it dawned on him and she smiled. “Ye… ye planned it this way?”

She nodded. “Happy anniversary.” The fingers of his right hand began trailing slowly up her leg causing her to quiver and break out into gooseflesh, the fine hairs standing on end. “Depending on how you do the math, we’ve either been married for thirteen years or two hundred fifteen.”

His hand found her exposed flesh and he grinned, running his finger along the slick crease between her legs. “I thought ye said women of yer time generally wore drawers under yer skirt,” he remarked as she began to squirm beneath him.

“Well, you can take the lass out of the eighteenth century…”

She tugged at his kilt as she opened her legs wider to him, kissing his throat and collar as he scrambled to get his clothes out of the way. With a sharp thrust he was deep inside her. She clung to him, her hands pressed tightly to his back as he drove deeper and harder—she could make out the ridges of the scars beneath the fabric of his shirt. Arching against him, desperate to get closer, to merge completely, she heard the low, determined grunts he made each time he moved within her. It was remarkable the way that their bodies remembered each other. So many nights she’d done what she could to conjure the memory of his touch, the feel of him inside her, his weight upon her and she had retained his impression on her body but the finer points of making love with him—the smell of his sweat when she pressed her face to his neck, the ache in her hips when he bore down on her and urged her over the edge, the breathless way he would whisper in her ear…

They fell together, their bodies suddenly still except for the deep throbbing where they were linked. As breath and clear thought returned, Claire became aware of the stinging pain in her buttocks where they’d been scraped by the stone on which she lay and began to laugh.

“It wasna that bad, was it?”

“No—it’s not that,” she assured him. “It’s just… been a long time. I feel…”

“Aye,” he said with a nod and smile, touching the tip of his nose to hers. “I ken what ye mean.”

He rolled to the side, pulling her with him so that their legs remained entwined. She rested her cheek against his chest—the shirt slightly damp with sweat. His hand found hers on his breastbone and he laced their fingers together, their scars pressed together.

“Are your knees in as rough shape as my arse, do you think?” she said quietly after a moment.

He raised his head in an attempt to see what he could make of her sore bottom.

“About the same, I’d expect,” he guessed with a laugh she felt rumble low in his chest.

They were quiet for another moment—Jamie’s fingers traced the line of Claire’s shoulder blades through her wrinkled and soiled blouse, she nuzzled her nose into his chest—then Jamie took a deep breath.

“Ye’re certain that this is what ye want, then…”

“I am,” she said quickly and firmly—she wasn’t about to put up with him pushing back anymore.

“Have ye thought about it then? The practicalities of it, I mean.” He turned to look her in the eye, which forced her to shift and prop herself up a bit and loosening his hold on her hand.

“I have. I felt that I should… that talking to some people and getting some questions answered before… well, before telling you would help. And doing so was a way to remind myself that I want to do this no matter what,” she explained as best she could. She began fidgeting with her fingers, tracing the line of buttons on his shirt.

“Who did ye talk to?” His brow furrowed with curiosity.

“When Bree went with Frank and Reverend Wakefield and Roger to see some of the sites, I went to Edinburgh. I told Frank it was a shopping trip—not the kind of thing he’d be interested in and since he’d be watching Bree…” She blinked and looked down to her hand on his abdomen. “I found a solicitor there and spoke with him about the situation—only in broad terms, of course. I will have to find someone back in the states to handle the case itself and he was able to recommend a colleague they work with regularly. He laid out the steps I’ll need to take before… before I tell Frank and actually leave…”

Her hand was wandering down from his abdomen and into the folds of his kilt. She heard his sharp intake of breath and grinned before continuing.

“There’s money I’ll have to move—what’s left of my inheritance from Uncle Lamb, most of which paid for medical school—and then a good chunk of what I made working at the hospital.”

“Mmmhmm.” He swallowed loudly and fought to pay attention to her words instead of what her hand was doing.

“And after I spoke to the solicitor, I went to one of the hospitals in Edinburgh to see what I would need to do if I were to start searching for a job here in Scotland—what records they would need from me, what the market for surgeons is as opposed to more general practitioners, where the demands are within the country… It shouldn’t take too long for me to find something once Bree and I are here for good.”

Jamie nodded vigorously, closed his eyes tightly, and licked his lips.

Claire let him go so she could sit up and swing her leg over his torso, straddling him and feeling the heat of him pressing eagerly searching to find his way to the core of her once more.

“It will take a few weeks in Boston to get everything started but I want Bree to have some time to adjust before starting school in the autumn,” she told him, leaning on his torso as his hands slid up her thighs to take hold of her hips. “And once everything is settled with the divorce…” she rocked against him so that he slid inside her once more, “we can marry again… we can buy Lallybroch back… we can restore it… we can… we can be together…” She was losing her train of thought as she rose and fell over Jamie, her hands sliding from his torso to his shoulders to give her a stronger hold as his hips jerked upwards meeting her flesh with force and purpose. They lost themselves in one another again, focusing on the rhythm of their bodies and the promise of the future; ignoring the biggest obstacle still ahead of them—Frank.

 

* * *

 

 

The hours slipped away from them as they made the most of their time in Jamie’s cave but soon it was impossible to ignore the shifting light and the advancing hour.

“We didn’t see as much of the house and grounds as I hoped we would,” Claire remarked as she readjusted her skirt and blouse, brushing the dirt from it and checking for tears.

“Ye said ye spoke to the agent,” Jamie remarked, reaching out to pull a twig from Claire’s hair after having tidied himself. “Will it be difficult to secure Lallybroch from the current owners? Mrs. Graham helped me set up accounts for my finances but I dinna think I can have much in them yet—and… modern currency…”

“It takes some getting used to, I know,” Claire understood. “It doesn’t sound as though they’re expecting Lallybroch to sell anytime soon—it’s been vacant for some time and with the repairs it needs…”

Jamie snorted with mild disgust.

“I dinna ken whether I should be happy that there’s a chance we’ll be able to get Lallybroch back or insulted that no one else should want it,” he muttered.

“Hold on there,” Claire said, reaching out a hand for him to hold still. “You’ve got something stuck to your kilt.”

There was a bit of metal that had got itself hooked into the threads of the tartan. It took a moment for Claire to work it free with her fingernails without tearing the fabric or damaging the trinket. She had to move to the mouth of the cave to see it properly in the sunlight.

“Is tha’ gold?” Jamie asked moving closer to examine it beside her. She dropped it into his open palm.

“I think so. It’s not tarnished—just dirty and a bit scratched,” Claire observed. “It’s a locket of some kind.”

“I wonder how long it’s been there.” Jamie’s eyes scanned the floor of the cave. “And who could ha’ left it.”

Claire took the locket back. “It’s not a particularly old style, I don’t think. Someone didn’t take very good care of it. What does that mark on the front look like to you?”

Jamie peered at it and shrugged. “Some sort of book or scroll best I can tell. Should we leave it or take it with us?”

She had her doubts as to whether the original owner would ever return to claim it but since it appeared to be a token of importance to someone, she didn’t feel right with the idea of absconding with it.

“Best leave it,” she decided. “When we manage to save enough to buy Lallybroch, we can come back and see if it’s still here.”

Jamie grinned. “Aye. Then it willna feel like taking something that’s no ours—if we buy Lallybroch and the land, the cave and anything in it will be ours too.”

“Precisely. Now, let’s head back to Inverness. They should be getting back from the festival before too long and I need to fetch Bree from the manse.”


	12. One Puzzle Resolved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie prepare to part again so that Claire can take the actions necessary for them to be a family once and for all.

Claire wasn’t able to get away to see Jamie again until near the end of their time in Scotland. Aside from the demands of keeping Brianna properly entertained, Frank’s return from his conference made her nervous about spending so much time visiting Mrs. Graham—both with and without Brianna—lest Frank feel obligated to join her on one of her visits. She didn’t fear what Jamie might do upon seeing Frank—and his resemblance to Black Jack Randall—but she was nervous about what Frank would do when he saw Jamie and recognized the resemblance between him and Brianna. She didn’t want anything to force her hand to Frank sooner than she was prepared to reveal it.

But she couldn’t leave Scotland for Boston without seeing Jamie one more time and without giving him one more glimpse of Brianna. They needed to be on the same page before their lines of communication were going to be so severely restricted.

So under the guise of a final play date for Brianna and Fiona, she returned to Mrs. Graham’s one last time.

“Hi Mac,” Brianna said with a wave of greeting on her way through the house to the yard with Fiona tugging her hand. It was overcast but so far it hadn’t begun to rain. Mrs. Graham had all the ingredients for biscuits ready on the counter for when the droplets began to fall.

Jamie and Claire stood by the window watching the girls play, not caring that Mrs. Graham was there as Jamie’s arms came up around Claire, pulling her back against his chest so he could rest his chin on her head.

“I’ve met wi’ a man owns a horse breeding farm just outside of Inverness,” Jamie told her quietly. “I’ve looked through some books about the harnesses and tools, to see what’s changed in two hundred years—no so much as I might have feared—and a horse is a horse, of course. But wi’ this work I can save a bit towards the future.”

“I’ll need to find a flat for Bree and I when we first get here but that will likely depend on where I can find work at a hospital,” Claire mused. “There’s the hospital here in Inverness, but I’m worried that… with my history here that it could end up being a… distraction.”

“Where are ye thinking?”

“Edinburgh… or Glasgow. It should be easy to find what we’ll need while the divorce gets sorted. Then… then we’ll be able to be together properly,” she said with a sigh.

“Lallybroch,” Jamie murmured in her ear. “Can I no write to ye in Boston? No to yer house, of course, but to the hospital.”

Claire shook her head. “I won’t be working at the hospital when I get back—just making arrangements to get authorized copies of my transcripts and any letters of recommendation I can to help me get a job here. And anyway, they don’t like to encourage anyone receiving personal mail at the hospital—they only want paid bills coming in, I think. I’ve only ever had one… well, I can’t call it a letter because there was nothing inside it but some pressed flowers and there was no name for the return address but it came from…”

She started suddenly in his arms as he chuckled deeply.

“You? Were you the one who sent them? Wha—but how? Why?”

“I told ye I wanted to find ye right away but… I didna want to impose or disturb ye. And I didna want to tell ye… like _that_ ; I wanted to see ye, no just tell ye I was here,” he explained in hushed tones. Glancing around he realized Mrs. Graham had once again left them to themselves. “Mrs. Graham found them stuck to my clothes when she brought me here. I dinna ken whether they got stuck before I came through or if it was the landing that did it, but she put them away in a book and only mentioned them later when I… when I wanted to go to ye myself.”

“She knew where I worked from Reverend Wakefield,” Claire said with satisfaction as one puzzle resolved itself. “And it was typewritten…”

“My hand,” he finished for her. “I couldna write wi’ it in a cast so Mrs. Graham let me use that machine of hers—to be able to write so much wi’ so little strain, Sassenach,” Jamie’s voice rose with his excitement and awe over the technological advancement. “It took some practice to understand it and learn its ways but… it is a marvel. Though, to be fair, when ye’re putting words to paper by hand it can save ye from saying more than ye should or from committing something to ink that’s perhaps best left unsaid.”

“What?” Claire asked, amused by Jamie’s apparently philosophical turn.

“When ye must take yer time no to run out of paper and to be sure the writing is legible,” he explained. “It can give ye pause when ye must think of the right way to say it and when ye must think of it that way, ye’ll maybe think more on what it is ye’re saying _exactly_.”

Claire shook her head before reaching up and running her hand along his cheek. “You’ll do well here,” she told him with confidence and resignation.

“I’ll do better when ye’re back again,” he countered, turning into her caress and lightly kissing her palm.

“A few weeks,” Claire assured him. “A month at most. And I’ll leave you with the address of a friend. I’ll explain to him while I make the necessary arrangements—he’ll understand and help me. Though, I hope I’m not gone long enough for it to be an issue.”

“And how long will the divorce take do ye think? I ken ye’ll no want to throw the lass into a situation that willna help wi’ that and it will take her time to come round to the idea…”

“I don’t know,” she frowned. “Not too long, I hope. We’ll be able to see each other, though—not every day but often. And you’ll get to practice with the telephone.”

“Hearing yer voice but no seeing yer face?” He shivered and tightened his grip on her.

“It’s better than nothing,” she reminded him.

“Aye. Not so good as having ye here in my arms,” he asserted before pressing a kiss to her temple.

The sky outside had darkened still further as the storm rolled in. Jamie and Claire failed to notice it until a rumble of thunder caused the girls to scream and run to the house. Before Brianna and Fiona burst through the door, Jamie and Claire leapt apart—Claire found herself cataloguing the ingredients at the counter while Jamie took a seat at the kitchen table and grasping at a neglected newspaper.

“Look at you girls,” Claire exclaimed as they alternated between panting and giggling while propped against the closed door.

“Fiona said her gran had the stuff set out to bake cookies,” Brianna exclaimed, hopping over to Claire’s side.

“Cookies?” Mrs. Graham asked as she waltzed back into the kitchen and set her hands on her hips. “I didna set out the ingredients for _cookies_ ,” she proclaimed in an exaggerated tone of voice. “What I set out were the fixings for shortbread biscuits.”

Brianna began to groan but caught herself and instead poked Claire’s side until she had her mother’s attention and Claire bent to hear her whisper. “I’m sick of shortbread. Can’t we make chocolate chip instead?”

“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Graham if she has what we need to make chocolate chip cookies,” Claire whispered back. “And find a way to be polite about it or you’re not baking anything this afternoon.”

Brianna flushed momentarily but turned to Mrs. Graham who had carefully set her features so that her eyes were narrowed at Brianna.

“Have you ever had chocolate chip cookies?” Brianna asked Mrs. Graham with enthusiasm. “You have most of what you need to make them already out and I can show you how to make them, right Mama.”

“Right,” Claire agreed with a light laugh. “Can you remember what else is missing?”

Brianna peered at the counter. “The eggs… and the regular sugar… We need vanilla and baking powder too.”

“Baking _soda_ ,” Claire corrected. “And…”

Brianna laughed and rolled her eyes. “The chocolate chunks,” she added sheepishly.

“Well… I suppose if we can find the rest of all that we could try to make yer chocolate chip cookies then,” Mrs. Graham agreed. Fiona jumped and clapped her hands briefly before pulling Brianna over to the pantry to find and retrieve the missing ingredients.

“If ye dinna mind starting with the lasses, there’s something I need to fetch,” Mrs. Graham told Claire with a brief look thrown at Jamie before retreating from the kitchen.

Claire took the bowls and scale to the table as Jamie jumped up to help as Claire directed.

“You’re going to help us, Mac?” Brianna asked, stunned.

Claire pressed her lips together and watched the exchange between Jamie and their daughter. Frank didn’t cook or help much in the kitchen at all so it was hardly surprising that Brianna would be astonished to see Jamie stepping up to help. In truth, Claire was a little astonished as well. Jamie could cook enough to survive on his own, but there was a difference between roasting game over an open fire and the precision required of baking. Even she had given up preparing much more than stews in the kitchens at Lallybroch, lacking Jenny and Mrs. Crook’s intuition with the brick ovens.

“And why not?” Jamie countered. “I ken I’ve no much experience but how am I to gain it if I dinna watch and learn?”

A smile began to bloom on Brianna’s face at his enthusiasm and logic.

“Besides, these… _chocolate chip cookies_ sound tasty and my mam raised me to help where I could to earn my keep. If I want to try one of these cookies—and I assure ye, I do—then I’m goin’ to take part in their making. Now,” he rubbed his hands together and surveyed the table, “what do I do first?”

“We need to measure out the sugars and mix them with the butter,” Brianna informed everyone since Jamie wasn’t her only pupil. Fiona reached to help Claire with the sugar while Brianna quickly snatched up the wooden spoon to mix the ingredients.

There was a flash of lightning outside and Brianna and Fiona both dropped what was in their hands to the table in order to cover their ears, wincing as the thunder rumbled—still a good distance away.

“Sounds like boulders rolling down a hill,” Jamie remarked casually as Claire picked up the eggs and examined them. She moved to the sink to wash them more thoroughly before letting the girls have a turn at cracking them into a smaller bowl—it would be easier to spot and remove any stray bits of the shell if the cracking proved difficult.

“When I was a wee lad and scairt by a storm,” he began, leaning forward in his chair to pull the girls’ focus back to him, “my sister used to tell me tales of the giants in the Highland mountains. She said the low building thunder to start was the giants moving boulders as they built up their fortresses, readying themselves for the battle to come.” Brianna and Fiona had removed their hands from their ears, their attention fixated on Jamie as he used his hands to help tell the story. “Then, the lightning was the sparks that flew as their blades slashed one against the other, and the louder cracking thunder was the echo of a broadsword striking another’s shield.”

There was another flash that made the girls jump but instead of hearing the crash of thunder, they heard the quiet cranking of Mrs. Graham with her camera advancing the film for another shot. Claire laughed first with the girls giggling a moment later before getting back to the baking at hand. Jamie shot Claire a slightly confused look.

“You’ll have to send me copies of those pictures when you have them developed,” Claire insisted, shooting a glance back at Jamie. He registered enough understanding to give her a nod of appreciation.

“Aye well, as it’s yer last day here, I thought the girls might enjoy a few keepsakes of the day,” Mrs. Graham explained.

She took a few more photographs as the girls mixed the dough with Brianna taking charge of matters, issuing orders and directives for which ingredients needed to be added and when.

“They’re best when they’re hot from the oven like this,” she extolled, using a spatula to put cookies onto napkins for everyone to sample. “No! Not yet, Mac,” she scolded as Jamie raised his cookie to take a bite. “You need to have a glass of milk ready first—chocolate chip cookies _always_ have to have a glass of milk to go with them.”

“Apologies, Miss Bree,” he said with a bow of the head. “Thank ye for alerting me to the error of my ways.”

He smirked at Claire as she handed over a glass of milk.

“Now,” Brianna nodded as they all took tentative bites, testing the temperature with their tongues.

Mrs. Graham urged everyone to get into position so she could take a photo with the lot of them raising their nibbled cookies. “You too, Mac,” she insisted. “Ye’ll need to sit so yer head doesna go out of frame. Mrs. Randall, if ye’ll just stand behind him there. And then girls, the two of you need to stand… Aye! Just so. Now hold and smile.”

The camera flashed and they were able to relax their poses to enjoy the rest of the cookies.

“Mac,” Brianna giggled, “you have chocolate all over your mouth.”

“Aye and ye’re one to talk,” he remarked. “Ye’ve got smears right up to yer wee nose. Ye ken it’s supposed to go into yer mouth, no?”

Claire pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dampened it at the sink before handing it to Brianna. “Wipe your mouth and then it’s your turn, Mac,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Then I think we’re going to need to say our goodbyes to everyone here, Bree. We need to go back to the inn and pack our things to go back to Boston.”

Brianna pouted. “But I don’t wanna leave Scotland.”

“Maybe if ye’re a good lass, ye’ll be able to talk yer mam into bringing ye back for another visit,” Jamie whispered to Brianna.

“Why don’t you see if Fiona will be your pen pal?” Claire suggested.

“I want to be pen pals with everyone here,” Brianna asserted. “Fiona and Roger and Reverend Wakefield and Mrs. Graham and Mac,” she listed off, grinning at Jamie when she mentioned him.

“The honor would be mine,” he said quietly and Claire could hear the emotion in his voice.

“Go see if Mrs. Graham will give you some paper so you can take down everyone’s addresses,” Claire instructed. She began to rub Jamie’s shoulder when Brianna turned excitedly away. His hand found it’s way up to cover hers, squeezing as he fought to keep his control. “We will be back,” she assured him in a whisper while the others were preoccupied. “It won’t be much longer before she knows the truth.”


	13. Lawyers and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has some work to do in Boston if she's going to be able to have the future with Jamie and Brianna that she so desperately wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: While I generally try to do a bit of research for these fics (especially for historical accuracy), I simply don’t have the time to be able to go into all of the legal specifics for divorce law in 1958 Boston and/or 1958 UK/Scotland. As such, I’m sure there are discrepancies/inaccuracies, but since the legalities are mostly going to be dealt with off page, I hope you’ll forgive me for simply bending the factual law into fictional law to work with the story better.

Upon returning to Boston with Frank and Brianna, Claire immediately set to work.

Brianna insisted on accompanying Frank to the university as soon as his vacation time was officially at an end. She wanted to be there to watch and assist him as he presented the news from the conference to his colleagues as well as the results of some of his personal research conducted while in Scotland. With her contract at the hospital expired, Claire was free to visit the attorneys partnered with the ones she spoke to in Edinburgh to begin the tedious process of preparing to leave Frank.

She would need to take an inventory of their mutual assets as well as decide what she would be requesting in her divorce petition; while taking the things she considered “hers” outright could be seen as provoking, packing them up and putting them into a safe and secure storage facility might be best. Finances would be difficult to disentangle—it turned out her having worked for so long at the hospital both worked in her favor and made that process more difficult. The money she earned as well as what was left of her inheritance from Uncle Lamb should both go to her without incident; documenting that adequately before transferring the money she would need to live on while the divorce was finalized would be time consuming.

She was nervous as she told the lawyers that she meant to take her daughter with her to Scotland permanently when she left Frank, but though their brows furrowed in judgment and disapproval, there weren’t significant legal obstacles to prevent her from doing so.

“Your marriage was performed and registered in Scotland and you and your husband are both British citizens. There is no current custodial agreement in place that you would be violating so as long as you plan to seek the divorce _from_ Scotland, it will all be subject to British laws and regulations. The differences between the two nations shouldn’t be insurmountable should your husband decide to make a nuisance of himself,” the first lawyer—an unpleasantly patronizing man who made Claire miss Ned Gowan tremendously—told her as he watched her down the length of his nose. “That your _daughter_ is an American citizen, having been born here, _might_ affect the proceedings… Have either you or your husband applied for American citizenship?”

“No, we’ve been working on visas since we came. He was offered the teaching position while we were still living in England,” she began to explain but the man waved a hand to cut her off.

The most uncomfortable and unpleasant part of the exchange was the discussion of the grounds for divorcing Frank. Infidelity was the most certain route that would lead to her being able to keep full custody of Brianna—provided she could prove it.

“I believe I can,” she said with a measure of disgust. “There’s only the one woman I know about for certain… I just… is there perhaps another way to do this? I don’t want to _attack_ Frank in these proceedings. I’m afraid he’ll… level allegations at me as well and I don’t want to think of what that could do to my daughter.”

“ _Have_ you been unfaithful, Mrs. Randall?” the second lawyer who’d mostly kept his mouth shut to that point chimed in.

Claire felt her face flush.

“You had better tell us _everything_ about your marriage, Mrs. Randall,” the first lawyer informed her. “From the beginning or we won’t be able to advise you properly.”

“It’s _Doctor_ Randall, if you please,” Claire asserted, shifting in her chair as she scrambled mentally to cobble together a workable substitute for the _actual_ truth about Jamie. The last thing she needed was to give anyone the impression she was mentally impaired in some way—Frank would probably use her medical records following her return through the stones against her if she gave him half the chance.

She sighed before finally starting. “My husband and I were married when I was young and the war was just starting. I worked as a combat nurse while Frank was in military intelligence. We hardly saw each other during the war and after it was over… things weren’t quite the same. We went to Scotland—near where we’d been married—to try to… find ourselves again,” she paused and took a deep breath. “Only I… met someone. I didn’t mean to… disappear exactly, but when it came time for me to make a choice, I chose another man. We lived as husband and wife for a little over two years and then… there was an accident and I thought he was dead.”

“Where did you live with this man, exactly? Can it be verified?”

“The Highlands—I… It was a small place and no, I doubt it can be verified at all.” This was the part of her story that would be tricky and she would need to make sure she told it to Jamie exactly in case he ever needed to testify to it. “He was a fisherman and his boat failed to return. I… I was devastated. The longer he was gone, the more likely it became that he’d been lost at sea so… I didn’t know what to do. I was pregnant and couldn’t imagine raising my child alone so I went back to Frank and—”

The small lawyer interrupted her. “So you mean to say your husband is not your daughter’s biological father?”

“No. He isn’t. He has raised her as his own and she doesn’t know the truth yet.” Claire could feel her energy draining as she struck on the truth. “But I was mistaken, it turns out. He—her real father—he's still alive.”

“And he’s found you and contacted you.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Have you had relations with him since you learned of his miraculous survival?”

She felt like she was being interrogated by the police.

“Once,” she confessed as she flushed. “I had already made up my mind to leave Frank.” As if that detail made the fact of her legal infidelity more acceptable somehow.

“I see,” the lawyer said looking to his colleague and communicating with raised brows before leaning forward, his hands clasped together on top of his desk. “Well, your husband _may_ countersue you regarding your infidelity, which could tie up the proceedings a bit, but that will really only impact the division of property. With infidelity on both sides, there’s little chance the divorce won’t be granted and when it comes to custody of your daughter, he won’t have much of a leg to stand on. His name’s on her birth certificate?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have proof that she _can’t_ biologically be your husband’s?”

“Yes,” Claire said firmly. All anyone would have to do to know it was stand Brianna between Frank and Jamie and look. The first of Mrs. Graham's missives had arrived in the mail just the day before with a series of letters enclosed along with it _—_ and copies of the photos that had been taken during the last afternoon she had brought Brianna to play with Fiona. Mrs. Graham must have taken the film to be developed as soon as she and Brianna had left and then had all the letters written and mailed within a day of their flight back to Boston.

Claire had slipped them straight into her purse along with the letter Jamie had written to her _—_ she had held off reading the letter until after she had taken this first necessary step and would have something substantial to report back to him _—_ but she wasn't prepared to share the photos with anyone yet. For now, the image of Brianna and Jamie with perfectly matched, chocolate-covered grins was hers alone to cherish. 

“Then I wouldn’t concern yourself too much with the legalities of a custody arrangement. I _would_ advise you, however Mrs.—excuse me, _Doctor—_ Randall, to consider what is best for your _daughter_ in all of this,” the lawyer said, returning to his patronizing tone. Claire set her jaw and prayed he didn’t invoke St. Paul for fear she wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue. “Divorce is devastating for children, especially those as young as your girl. I’d think twice about what I was doing if I were you.”

“I’ll be back to file the necessary paperwork with you gentlemen before my daughter and I leave for Scotland,” Claire said, looking the lawyer in the eye as she made a point of ignoring his comments. “It would seem I have some work to do between now and then. I hope you have a lovely afternoon.”

* * *

The enormity of the step she’d just taken struck Claire as she headed for home. It was done, action had been taken, and though she knew it was all necessary in order to be with Jamie but she didn’t relish the thought of what it was going to do to Brianna or Frank. The thought of gathering the evidence necessary to prove his infidelity—of intruding on his privacy like that—made her feel despicable and she hadn’t even done it yet.

There would be more to do in the next few days—the hospital to visit to get copies of her records, Brianna’s school records to retrieve, going through her finances to start shifting the money around, and of course, packing—but she had done as much as she could handle for a single day.

She headed for the decanter of whisky next to Frank’s brandy and poured herself a generous measure before retreating to one of the chairs by the fireplace to sit and sip it.

Helen. That was the name of Frank’s… well, she wasn’t sure if the woman was really his mistress or if it was just a fling. She was one of the secretaries for the history department at the university and had been assisting Frank with some of his research during the spring term. Claire tried to recall when it was exactly that she’d known Frank was sleeping with her. It didn’t matter. She knew it was before she’d found the little love note from Helen in the pocket of one of his jackets. She’d left it there, pretending she hadn’t seen it and it was gone the next time she checked. It was a good bet that it was neither the first nor last.

Frank would have kept them all just as he had with the letters she had exchanged with him during the war—those he’d tucked away in a box along with hers from him, intending to give them to Brianna someday in the distant future.

Claire set her whisky glass aside and went to retrieve her purse. She pulled the letter and photos from the zippered pocket inside the lining. Two photos: the first had all five of them in it though Mrs. Graham had set herself and Fiona off to one side a bit leaving Jamie and Claire standing proudly behind Brianna’s chair; the second was of just Jamie and Brianna with their matching cookie-smeared grins. They looked like a family and they _would_ be, even if it meant hurting Frank… again.

She put the photos back and opened the letter, settling back in the chair as she let Jamie’s words comfort her further.

_My dear Claire,_

_I would have thought parting from you for such a short Period as opposed to the last would make the Parting easier. It hasn’t. I am impatient to be with you and Brianna again, to claim you as my Family and protect and provide for you as such. There is so little I can do from here, so much you must bear alone. It drives me near to madness, feeling so helpless—even knowing you are more than capable of bearing such a Burden. I am eager to know our Daughter better but fear her Reaction to the Truth. So much uncertainty shrouds the Future. But I will take the uncertainty gladly so long as it comes with you at my Side._

_That is what I long for most—to hold you in my Arms in the quiet Hours; to talk with you about the Things that mean Everything and Nothing; to feel Whole in a Way I have not felt for an Age; to be the Man I can only be when I am with you._

_I feel this Letter is growing too sentimental. You already know what lies in my Heart for you carry it with you. I wish to end with Something that will make you Smile so I must confess that Mrs. Graham and I are at War. She is a most excellent Landlady and though my Stomach is not inclined to discriminate after enduring the Fare at Ardsmuir, I feel confident in asserting that her Cooking could rival Mrs. Crook at her best._

_But Mrs. Graham insists on casting disapproving Glances at me when I refuse her recommendations concerning my Hair, or more specifically, its Length. She has voiced on several Occasions now that I ought to cut it into a Fashion more suitable for a Man of 1958, that its Color only draws further Attention to itself and to me as a Result. I have been gentle but firm in stating my Wishes that it remain untouched by her Shears and since you were so kind as to remove my Cast, I am far more confident that she will leave me to manage it on my own. I have taken to wearing it in a Queue that there is less of it exposed should she be tempted to grab Hold and remove it from me by Force. There. I know that Image will have you smiling._

_I remain yours in every Sense of the Word,_

_James Fraser_

_Postscriptum: Why did you never make clearer how wonderful the Pens of this Time are? To be able to sit and write an entire Letter without Interruption or Splotches is a Miracle. There. Perhaps now I have managed to earn another Smile._

Claire was smiling when she finished the letter. She was tempted to go search for the letter he had sent to his new pen pal Brianna but dismissed the idea. Much as she wanted to watch their relationship developing, they were entitled to privacy in that relationship. She would simply have to wait for one of them to share it with her. Reading through her own letter for a second and then a third time as she finished her whisky, she was willing to be patient––with them and with the waiting that would be necessary to take care of dismantling her marriage to Frank properly. Once she was finally back in Jamie’s arms, she had no plans of leaving them again.


	14. A Supportive Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire brings Brianna along on an errand at the hospital.

Brianna had been thrilled by the small haul of letters the Mrs. Graham had sent for her from her new pen pals and she spent the next few days agonizing over her responses though she refused all offers of assistance in composing them. It wasn’t enough to simply post them in the mailbox either; she insisted Claire take her to the post office to see them properly marked for their journey across the ocean.

They had to go to the hospital on their way back from the post office, which was another treat. Brianna had only been to the hospital where her mother worked a handful of times during Claire’s years there as a medical student—Frank hadn’t wanted Brianna to be exposed to the dangers and traumatic sights of the hospital and though Claire didn’t quite view the hospital as posing the same threat to Brianna’s person, she couldn’t deny the fact that it was difficult enough to get some of her colleagues to take her seriously as a woman; bringing her child in to see everyone would only remind them all of her status as a mother—a _working_ mother—and might make things even harder.

But since she was going to the hospital in order to request official copies of her transcripts and employment records, she didn’t care what her former colleagues thought—it wouldn’t hurt her in the eyes of those whose opinions she actually valued.

They encountered Joe Abernathy in the surgeons’ lounge.

“Joe!” Brianna exclaimed, running into the room and leaping onto the sofa beside Joe who scrambled to slip the book he had been reading down between the cushions and out of Brianna’s sight—the cover must have been _pretty_ risqué for him to make the effort; Claire would have to ask him which it was when she was through.

“Bree,” he greeted her with a grin. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” he turned to Claire, “you either Lady Jane. Here to negotiate for a new contract now that they’ve come to appreciate everything you do around here—cause let me tell you, they’ve got a much better idea now though they’ve still got a ways to go. The first few days after you left, the uh…” he looked to Brianna who was staring up at him with a knowing grin on her face. “Well… let’s just say I think you could get more than a year out of them now but five might still be a stretch.”

“Actually I’m here to get copies of my records so I can start looking elsewhere,” Claire told him. She too looked at Brianna for a moment—long enough for Joe to give her a small nod. They’d talk about it later. “Bree honey, how would you like to stay here while I go talk with my old bosses about boring paperwork? You don’t mind, do you Joe?”

“Not at all,” he insisted. “I need Bree here to tell me all about her adventures ‘cross the pond.”

Brianna’s face lit up as Claire gave Joe an appreciative nod before disappearing through the lounge door that led to the surgical administration offices.

“Did you say hello to Big Ben for me?” Joe asked.

Brianna rolled her eyes but his joke was enough to keep her smiling. “Daddy went to England but Mama and I stayed in Scotland the whole time. We stayed at the same place Mama and Daddy did for one of their honeymoons and Daddy took me to see the battlefields he studies and writes about. I went to a music festival with Reverend Wakefield and Roger and Mrs. Graham and Fiona.”

“Slow down, you’re talking too fast for me to keep up. It sounds like you made a bunch of new friends while you were in Scotland,” Joe remarked.

Brianna vigorously nodded her head setting her red-gold curls bouncing. “I have _so_ many pen pals now. Mama took me to the post office this morning to send a bunch of letters back. There’s Fiona—she’s Mrs. Graham’s granddaughter and I got to play with her a bunch of times. I showed her how to make chocolate chip cookies and she wrote back about how she and her grannie tried making them again after we left but burnt them all. See?” Brianna pulled out the small stack of letters to show Joe. “She’s not as good at spelling as I am,” Brianna explained with a precocious air of superiority.

“And who else do you have letters from in here?” Joe ran a finger along the other letters in the short stack.

“Mrs. Graham sent me the shortbread recipe to try with Mama and Roger sent me the music for some of the songs we heard at the music festival. This one’s from Mac—he boards at Mrs. Graham’s house so he was there when I played with Fiona. Mama let us help take off his cast cause a horse threw him and he broke his hand,” she rambled as Joe glanced over the letter.

_My Dear Miss Brianna,_

_I am afraid I must begin this my first Letter to you with an Apology for my Penmanship. My Hand is not as strong as it should be but you must tell your Mother that I am a good Patient. I have been practicing the Exercises she gave me and it continues to improve._

_As promised I have told the Horses at the Stable all about you so that when you come for your next Visit they will already have a Sense of you and will be ready for you to ride them, so long as your Parents approve._

_I pray your Journey back to Boston was as enjoyable as you hoped and that it was a safe one. I hope you and your Mother are doing as well as you where when we saw each other last. You must tell me what it is like to ride on a Plane, now that you are an Expert on the Subject._

_Yours,_

_Mac_

“He’s never been on a plane before,” Brianna explained when Joe had finished the letter and put it back with the others Brianna had given him to read. “So I told him all about how we had to wait at the airport and the stairs you have to climb to get on and Daddy let me have the seat by the window so I could see but it was mostly just clouds. And then I fell asleep for most of it,” she said ending with a shrug.

“So you had a fun trip?”

Brianna nodded vigorously.

“And do you think your mom enjoyed it?”

“She…” Brianna started but stopped to think about her answer some more. “I think so. She seems… different now. She was upset about the hospital when we left but she doesn’t seem upset about it anymore,” Brianna decided.

“That’s a good thing I guess.”

“I think so too. But I think she’s going to miss working with you.”

“Well, I’m going to miss working with her too,” he assured Brianna. “They don’t make ‘em like your mom anymore and it’s not the same here without her.”

* * *

Claire couldn’t deny that it was validating to see her former boss ready to finally meet the requests she had made previously regarding her contract, even if she no longer wanted them.

“We will go as high as three years,” Dr. Fitzgerald told her, “but with the promise to review the conditions after the first year and a half has passed with the option of extending the contract early.”

Claire smiled politely as she clasped her hands in her lap.

“Thank you, Dr. Fitzgerald, but I didn’t come here to negotiate a new contract. I came to request copies of my transcripts and work history records. I will need to have several official copies from the hospital complete with the embossed seal,” she told him.

Dr. Fitzgerald’s face twitched but he kept his expression controlled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Dr. Randall. When you informed us that you intended to let your old contract expire…”

“My situation has changed since then. I intend to seek employment elsewhere and will need copies of my records in order to do so.” Outwardly she was firm and relaxed but inwardly her heart was pounding. She didn’t want to give too much away for fear her intentions would get out. Boston was a big city but there were many avenues connecting the staff at the hospital to the faculty at the university. Frank knew she had planned to request these copies so she could begin lining up interviews for a new position at a different hospital, he just didn’t know that those hospitals she was interested in were in Scotland.

“Four years but you would have to wait until the last three months of the contract before negotiating an extension,” Dr. Fitzgerald tried to bargain.

Claire rose. “I believe there’s paperwork I need to fill out for my request,” she mentioned. “Is it something I can find and then file with the department receptionist? I should like to have it taken care of this afternoon so I can pick the records up sometime next week.”

“Do you already have another offer, is that it?” Dr. Fitzgerald’s tone was shifting to reveal the depths of his frustration. “We won’t be jerked around like this, Dr. Randall, let me assure you. Whatever offers I’ve made to you are gone as soon as you leave today.”

“That’s fine,” Claire told him, “I understand completely. I’m just… looking for a change.”

“Linda will have the form you’re looking for, then. Good luck with your search.” The dismissal and disdain were evident in his voice as he quickly turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk, though Claire could tell from the path of his eyes that he wasn’t really reading it.

“Thank you, Dr. Fitzgerald,” Claire ended politely before leaving the office and turning to Linda at her desk. The walls were thin enough for Linda to have the form in question ready to hand Claire already in place on a clipboard with a pen to hand as well.

Claire carried the clipboard with her through to the lounge again.

“Mama,” Brianna greeted her.

“Bree was just telling me about your trip to Scotland. Sounds like you all had a good time,” Joe remarked as Claire sat down and balanced the clipboard on her thigh.

“We did,” she agreed.

“Are we going home now, Mama?”

“Not yet, sweetheart. I just have to fill this out and turn it in. Why don’t you head down to the cafeteria and get yourself a snack,” Claire suggested, reaching for her purse and pulling out some quarters.

“Can I go by myself?” Brianna asked trying to keep her face from showing her excitement at the prospect.

The cafeteria wasn’t far—through two corridors and to the left—so Claire nodded. “Don’t run in the hallways though,” she warned as Brianna spun around quickly. “Leave that to the doctors.”

Joe chuckled beside her as she turned back to the form in her lap and began absentmindedly filling it out.

“So what happened, LJ?” Joe asked. “What made you change your mind about coming back here?”

She paused. “I’m leaving Frank,” she confessed quietly.

“Shit,” Joe muttered, sitting up straighter. “Did he… _do_ something?”

“Aside from the department secretary, you mean?” Claire quipped. “Sorry, that was… That’s not _why_ —though he _did_ … _stray_ …”

“Where’re you going to go?”

“Scotland.”

Joe snorted. “Liked it that much did you?”

“There’s… I have… _someone_ —Brianna’s father—her _real_  father,” her voice dropped lower and lower and she looked around to be sure they were alone and that Brianna wasn’t coming. “I thought he’d died in… an accident but… it turns out I was wrong and now…”

“Now there’s more reasons to go than there are to stay,” Joe understood. “The balance has shifted… and you’re going.”

Claire nodded. “I can’t stay with Frank any more. I hate to hurt him like this but…”

“Tread carefully, Claire,” Joe advised.

“I’ll tell Bree when everything’s arranged and then I’ll tell Frank so they can say their goodbyes,” she explained her plan. “I’ve already been to the lawyers. I have leads on placements in Scotland. I’m working on arranging a flat for us while the divorce goes through.”

“Frank will fight it.”

“I know. But… there’s not much he can do. I just need the copies of these records and to start shipping our stuff over—I’ve told Frank I’ll be cleaning out the house until I find a new position, something to keep myself busy.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help,” Joe offered.

“Hopefully it’ll just be a drive to the airport when the time comes,” she told him with a grin.

“You love this guy?” Joe narrowed his eyes at her to examine her reaction.

She thought of Jamie waiting for them in Scotland, the plans he was already developing to restore Lallybroch. Joe was satisfied by the smile that bloomed across her face.

“You do,” he confirmed. “Just… be careful, all right? And when all the dust settles, I’m going to come visit you sometime and check this guy out for myself.”

“Promise?”

“Mama, d’you want a bite of my brownie?” Brianna asked skipping back towards them with a bit of mint frosting from the top of the chocolate treat smeared around her mouth.

Claire glanced down at the clipboard to see where she’d left off then back to Brianna. “Only a small one,” she urged her.


	15. Everything and Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has to bite the bullet and tell Frank she's leaving him and taking Brianna with her.

Over a few weeks, Claire surreptitiously went through the house in Boston, packed everything she needed and wanted, and shipped it to Mrs. Graham in Scotland to store for her until she and Brianna were ready. It surprised her how little she cared to send aside from clothes; beyond that there were few artifacts from her years with Frank that she felt the desire to keep. In the end, most of it fit into a single box; her textbooks from medical school lined the bottom of the box and then she carefully wrapped a tea set that Uncle Lamb had given to her and Frank as a wedding gift; she decided to leave behind all the jewelry Frank had given her, agonizing over the thought that Brianna might want some of it someday (she decided that if Brianna did, it would mean more to her coming from Frank). Going through the photographs proved an easier task than she had anticipated, too. Anything featuring Frank remained behind with those photos of just Brianna split into two equal piles (most of them had doubles or negatives from which they could be recreated, anyway).

Though Claire wanted to be safely in Scotland with Brianna and Jamie, there was a small ripple of regret with each box that disappeared behind the counter at the post office, marked for its journey. Each box shipped meant she was that much closer to explaining the situation to Brianna, that much closer to facing Frank.

It was the part of the process she had been dreading—and trying to plan for—the most. How was she supposed to tell Brianna that their time as a family with Frank was ending? How was she supposed to tell Brianna the truth about Jamie?

She decided it had to be done in stages. Brianna would never forgive her if Claire whisked her away to Scotland without saying goodbye—tempting as the thought may be. But for there to be a proper goodbye it meant confronting Frank—and that was something she was determined Brianna _shouldn’t_ see.

So she waited until everything was ready—everything was shipped except what fit in their suitcases, she had several appointments for interviews at hospitals and private practices in Inverness, and Mrs. Graham had even sent her several notices for homes and apartments that would be available quickly to rent. With everything in place, Claire purchased the plane tickets and called Joe to arrange for that ride to the airport.

The day before she was set to leave, Claire made sure Brianna was scheduled to sleep over at a friend’s house. She arranged with the other girl’s mother to have Brianna dropped off at home by nine the next morning, relieved when the other woman refrained from asking questions about it.

Returning home she had a few hours to fill before Frank would be home from the university. She pulled out the suitcases she and Brianna would need and packed the last of their things, setting the bags by the front door. She wasn’t much of a cook and doubted she would be hungry that evening but she needed something to do with herself—and needed a way to cope with the impending guilt—so she went to work in the kitchen making up basic meals that would freeze and reheat well.

She lost track of time so she was in the middle of pulling a meatloaf from the oven when Frank arrived home.

“Claire,” he called her name from the entryway—he’d noticed the suitcases. “What are these bags doing here?” The note of accusation in his voice suggested he already suspected the truth.

She set the meatloaf down to cool and turned the oven off, reaching for the small glass of whisky that she had been nursing for several hours—she’d been careful not to over do it. Downing the rest of the glass’ contents, she then brushed her hands down the front of her slacks, straightened up and pulled her shoulders back before walking steadily out of the kitchen to face Frank.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she told him as calmly as she could manage, “and Brianna’s coming with me.”

“Leaving?” Frank’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightened as he struggled to work wrap his mind around it. It wasn’t entirely a surprise but that didn’t make the prospect any easier to comprehend.

“It’s… not something I’ve decided to do lightly,” Claire began, striving to be gentle and understanding for as long as he would allow. “I don’t relish the thought of how this must hurt you—and I know—”

“I should have known,” he muttered, interrupting her and causing her to pause in her slow path towards him. “You’ve been… _off_ for a while now—I thought it was just that you’d been fired from the hospital—”

“I wasn’t _fired_ ,” she emphasized, feeling the heat of defensiveness rise within her. She took a deep breath, hoping to tamp it down, to stay focused and not let herself become distracted.

“Fired… failure to renew your contract—it doesn’t matter what you want to call it,” he snapped. “Everything was fine when you were working.”

“Everything was _not_ fine and you know it. We’ve been pretending at fine since Brianna was born. But I’m through lying to my daughter,” Claire fought to keep from yelling.

“So what… Where do you intend to go? What are you planning… to _do_?” Claire found herself observing him clinically—his breathing was erratic and his face flushed; there was a muscle along his jaw that was beginning to twitch.

“I’m taking Bree to Scotland.”

Frank snorted a familiar grin twisted his face—familiar but not for _Frank’s_ face. The impression vanished as soon as it occurred to her. 

“Scotland? You’re planning to go looking for him, is that it? You found out that… _Jamie Fraser_ of yours survived Culloden and now you’re going to see if whatever those stones did before will let you back through to find him—you’re going to pull Bree into your searching?”

Claire blinked at him, uncertain what to make of him but fighting down the panic that was beginning to send adrenaline into her system.

“Well, he may not have died at Culloden but he _is_ dead—even if you go back, he won’t be there,” Frank told her. “I looked for him. I didn’t want to believe you but I had to check—I had to be sure. I found out you were telling the truth—I found a record of his trial and conviction. He died during a prison transfer—thrown from a horse according to the official report. So if you’re hoping for some kind of miraculous reunion, you might want to readjust your expectations.”

“It wasn’t a prison transfer,” Claire said, finding her calm again. “He was being paroled. And he was thrown from the horse but it didn’t kill him.”

Frank’s face shifted from righteous to confused in an instant.

“He broke a few bones in his hand and fingers but managed to make it to the top of Craigh na Dun. He made it through, Frank. He made it through and we found each other… just like he promised we would.”

She and Frank had been standing in the entryway but he lurched past her to reach the living room, a cornered animal desperate to escape. He dropped his briefcase and coat on the sofa before moving to the bar cart in the corner and pouring a hefty glass of brandy. He took a large gulp and as she watched him swallow it, a shudder passed through him.

“You can’t take her from me,” he said quietly. “She’s my daughter—maybe not my blood, but she’s _my_ daughter.”

“She’s his daughter too and she has a right to the truth,” Claire reiterated. “I don’t _want_ to take you away from her. You’re too important to her. But if you try to fight me on it… I don’t know that I’ll have a choice.”

“You’re taking her to bloody Scotland!” he shouted.

“I’m doing my best!” Claire shouted back. “Do you think I haven’t been agonizing over how to do this since I made up my mind? Do you think I _want_ to hurt you like this—to put _Bree_ through this?”

“I _do_ think you want to hurt me,” Frank snapped. “You’re upset about what happened with Helen—you’re trying to get back at me.”

“I _was_ upset when I found out about Helen,” Claire admitted. “But I’m not anymore.”

“Of course you’re not upset _now_. You’ve got someone else to fuck.”

Claire crossed her arms over her chest and grit her teeth, letting his comments slide while he raised his brandy and took another gulp.

“You think I didn’t _know._ ” Frank’s voice was thick with more than the drink. “You haven’t even let me touch you since Inverness… I thought it was because of being back there—because of the memories.” He let out a strangled chuckle. “You think I didn’t know all these years that you were thinking of him? That you were wishing it was _him_ between your legs every time you took me to your bed? That I didn’t know I was just a means of scratching some itch? Do you know what it’s like to make love to someone who doesn’t want you? It didn’t matter how much I did to please you; it didn’t matter how many times I left you shaking and limp with satisfaction… It was never enough. _I_ was never enough.”

Claire bit her tongue. The response that jumped to her lips had been _Do_ you _know what it’s like to make love with someone you don’t truly want? To feel like your body is betraying your soul?_ But she didn’t want to think about the times when her body refused to be tricked by self-inflicted touch and ghostly memories of Jamie. She didn’t want to relive the disconnectedness of her body arching towards Frank as her soul recoiled in search of Jamie. She was ashamed at how selfish her love making with Frank had been—desperate to have her release as quickly as possible so she could turn back in on herself and soothe the guilt, calm the betrayal.

And she didn’t want to know what Frank might throw back in response. Perhaps he did know how it felt. She had been gone for three years. Did she want to know what he had done while he’d been grieving for her? No. Neither of them talked about that time apart and what their experiences had been. She was familiar enough with police investigations to know Frank had probably been suspected of having done something horrible to her; that he’d likely been questioned at length during a time when he was trying to hold onto hope she would be found alive; that the public and the press could turn on a dime when a missing woman or child was involved.

She pushed it all aside and focused on something else—something that would reinforce her resolve.

“How long?” she asked Frank as she lifted her chin and gave a slightly defiant shake of her head. “How long have you known he survived Culloden? When was it that you decided you believed me enough to search for him but didn’t tell me about what you found? Were you ever going to tell me?”

Frank spent so long just standing and staring at her, Claire thought he was simply refusing to answer. Just as she was about to turn around and walk out of the room, he spoke up again.

“Only a few months before we went to Scotland,” he confessed. “I… I was researching—working on my family tree to try and go back further. I thought that if I could find the marriage register for Jonathan Randall and Mary Hawkins, one of the witnesses might be a family member on the Hawkins side of the family—her father perhaps.”

“And you found the register,” Claire nodded and looked down at the floor for a moment.

“It was your handwriting—I’d know it anywhere… Claire Beauchamp… _Fraser_.”

“I could hardly use Randall right there, could I,” she said with a lighter tone—an attempt at humor.

But Frank just glared at her. “If I had told you he survived Culloden… you would have done exactly what you’re doing now—taking Brianna away, destroying what little family I have left. She’s… I couldn’t love her more if she were my own… and I won’t let you take her away.”

Claire took a deep breath and felt the surge of determination and certainty course through her veins, steadying her.

“The courts will never grant you custody,” she informed him.

“Because of Helen? I suppose you’ve secreted away evidence of some sort to prove infidelity. But you’ve been unfaithful too and I doubt the courts will be so easy on you—especially when they take your profession into account.” He too had a quiet—and therefore dangerous—calm about him as he addressed her. “You’re not exactly the prim and proper housewife. They’ll look at how much time with her you’ve already missed. That you’re pulling this stunt and trying to sneak her out of the country… they’ll see it for what it is.”

“She isn’t your daughter biologically. You have no parental rights—”

“I’m on her birth certificate,” he reminded her desperately. “She bears _my_ name—Brianna Ellen _Randall_. That is _not_ going to change.”

“My medical records… Brianna’s medical records… _your_ medical records…” Claire listed. “They all _prove_ that she _isn’t_ your daughter. Of course, all anyone needs to do is look at her next to Jamie—the resemblance…”

“Stop,” he begged. “Just… stop. I don’t want to think of… _that man_. He stole you from me once before and now he’s doing it again and he’s taking my daughter too. Where… where is she?” he suddenly looked up, his eyes darting about the room.

“She’s sleeping over Beverly’s house. She’ll get a ride back in the morning with Beverly’s mom,” Claire told him. “I didn’t want her to be here for… _this_.”

He nodded with his lower jaw jutting forward. “No, of course not. The morning? And you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Bree should be home at nine and Joe will pick us up at ten thirty to drive us to the airport. I uh… There’s meatloaf in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” she said awkwardly.

He snorted and looked down at his empty brandy glass. “I should eat. Save this for tomorrow after you’ve gone,” he remarked, tilting the glass so that those unobtainable drops at the bottom teased him as they pooled to the other side. “Have you decided what you’re going to tell her yet? Or were you hoping I’d bite the bullet and do it for you?”

“I’m going to tell her the truth… gently, of course.”

“What are you going to do about…” he started to ask but then pursed his lips and made a tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth. “Your house cleaning project. You haven’t been bringing boxes of donations anywhere.”

“No.”

“What _have_ you left me, might I ask?”

“Just about everything—I took our clothes, my books, and the tea set from Uncle Lamb. I documented everything for my lawyers and followed their advice,” she told him.

“ _Just about everything_ ,” he repeated, mocking her slightly. “You’re taking Bree. You’re leaving me with nothing.” He set the empty glass on the bar top, not with any unusual force but in the quiet of the house the sound of it echoed. He brushed past her leaving his suit coat and briefcase on the sofa where he’d dropped them and Claire heard his steps echoing on the stairs followed by the slamming of a door.

Claire blinked back tears—of relief, of guilt, of frustration—and took several deep breaths until her hands stopped shaking. She drifted back to the kitchen where the scent of the meatloaf turned her stomach. She wrapped it up and set it aside in the refrigerator taking instead a box of crackers from the counter and several of the individually wrapped slices of cheese she thought of as both sacrilegious and unavoidably addictive.

She decided to sleep on the couch—she didn’t want to pick a whole new fight over the bedroom—but she would need a better pillow than the decorative cushions and a blanket wouldn’t be unwelcome either. Luckily, those were kept in the linen closet at the top of the stairs.

As she headed up to fetch them, she noticed that the door to her and Frank’s bedroom remained open while Brianna’s was closed. She tiptoed passed the closed door and retrieved the pillow from her side of the bed along with the knitted blanket folded at the foot of the bed and crept to the stairs. She didn’t know if Frank would spend the entire night in Brianna’s room but she didn’t want to risk being in their bed should he decide he wanted to sleep there after all—and if she was being honest, she wanted to be the one closest to the front door of the house, ready to intercept Brianna if need be.


	16. Unwanted Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna learns that she and Claire are leaving and she must say goodbye to Frank.

From the moment Claire opened the front door to wave to Beverly’s mother, Brianna could tell something was wrong—it was all right there on her mother’s face. She was pale with tired circles under her eyes and a line of tension between her eyebrows. It was an expression Brianna remembered from when her mother was working at the hospital and had patients who weren’t doing well. But Mama hadn’t been working at the hospital for months; there shouldn’t be any patients whose ailments kept her awake at night.

The sight of it made Brianna’s hands sweat and her stomach twist a bit. She thanked Mrs. Henderson for driving her home and said her goodbyes to Beverly, then pulled her backpack from the back seat and cautiously headed up the steps and into the house.

“Did you and Beverly have a good time?” Claire asked.

Brianna looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Yeah… Where’s Daddy?”

“He’s making you some breakfast,” Claire informed her, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But I already ate at Beverly’s,” Brianna pointed out.

“Honey… I have to talk to you about something.”

Brianna went to toss her backpack on the floor by the door but there were suitcases already there. She paused and stared at them.

“Bree… you and I are going on a trip today.”

Brianna’s gaze shifted to watch her mother from the corner of her eye.

“Daddy’s not coming?”

“No, Daddy has to stay here.”

“Why? How come you didn’t say something sooner? How long are we going for?” The questions tumbled from her mouth, fear pushing them out one right after another.

“Daddy and I…” but Claire paused and took a deep breath, contemplating her daughter’s face.

“Are you… are you getting a divorce?” The question was quiet and Brianna almost immediately regretted it—she could see the shock on her mother’s face and feared her reaction, regardless of the question’s answer.

Finally her mother nodded gently. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m sorry to do this to you but… I think you’ll see that it’s for the best—maybe not right away but someday you’ll understand.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, eying the suitcases. She remembered Mark Andrews’ parents got divorced the year before but she didn’t know anything more about what it was like for him now; he’d had to switch schools part way through the term because of it, though Brianna wasn’t quite sure why his mom made him go somewhere else when it was his dad who had gone to live across town.

“We’re going back to Scotland,” Claire said with a genuine enthusiasm that proved more shocking to Brianna than the destination itself.

“What? But… but my friends are all here!” Brianna exclaimed. “Why do we have to go that far? Why can’t I stay here with Daddy?”

The spark of enthusiasm died in Claire’s eyes, the corners of her mouth slipped down again.

“There’s… there are reasons for us to live there instead of here but… I’m not sure you’re ready to hear them yet,” Claire faltered. She’d been holding Brianna’s gaze but in the face of her daughter’s resistance she wavered.

“Tell me,” Brianna demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and raising herself as tall and as straight as she could manage. Though she was only nine-and-three-quarters, she was already nearly as tall as her mother’s shoulder. “I want to know why we have to go, why we can't stay in Boston. I don’t want to leave Daddy.”

“I know you don’t, Bree, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do,” Claire said with conviction. Provoked by her daughter’s obstinacy, she was prepared to dig her heels in too. “Sometimes we have to put up with things we don’t understand. And sometimes we figure out the answers to our questions in the end but only if we’re patient enough.”

Brianna scowled at her mother and stomped her foot for good measure. “I don’t want to go. You can’t make me. I’ll stay with Daddy.”

“Joe is going to be here in a little over an hour,” Claire said, ignoring Brianna’s declaration. “Most of the things you’ll need have already been packed but there are still some things in your room for you to go through that Daddy will help you with.”

“I’m. Not. Going,” Brianna insisted.

“You’re going to do what your mother says,” Frank’s voice said from the kitchen doorway. He too looked like he’d hardly slept. There were sagging lines in his face that made him look old—his wrinkled clothes and untucked shirt (which stuck out from beneath his sweater) only added to that impression.

Brianna frowned at Frank even as tears came to her eyes.

“Come along, Bree,” he said with a listless wave of his arm toward the kitchen. “Let’s have a little talk. I’ve made some eggs and toast—pulled out that strawberry jam you like.” He stepped back into the kitchen knowing she would follow and with one last glance at her mother who had something sad—and perhaps… guilty?—about her expression, Brianna left her backpack on the floor beside the suitcases and headed into the kitchen.

She didn’t point out to Frank that she’d already eaten one breakfast at Beverly’s house or that the news of her parents’ split was threatening to bring those pancakes and bacon back up.

Frank stood at the stove and scooped a spoonful of eggs onto her plate before laying two pieces of toast alongside them and carrying it to the table where the promised jar of jam was already open and had a knife resting beside it. He put the plate in front of her usual place before returning to the stove to pile more onto a plate for himself and joining her.

He sat down and began to sprinkle salt and pepper over his eggs, remaining silent until Brianna pulled out her chair and sat down.

“I know this whole thing has come as a shock to you,” Frank began, the tines of his fork noisily striking the plate below. “It was a surprise to me as well. But your mother is determined in this and I’m afraid there will be no stopping the divorce itself.”

“What happened?” Brianna asked quietly, taking up her fork and poking at the yellow mass. Frank hadn’t stirred the mixture enough after placing it in the pan so they weren’t as fluffy or scrambled as they were meant to be; it was more of an eggy patty—and a runny one at that. Still, he’d gone to the effort of cooking for her so she felt the need to at least pretend to eat.

Frank sighed. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted setting his fork down and wiping a hand down his face; his other hand rested on the table, clenching slowly into a fist then relaxing. “I don’t think anyone is entirely to blame and I want you to know that whatever happens between me and your mother,” he said, turning to Brianna and fixing her with an intent gaze, “ _you are my daughter and I love you_. You have to go with your mother for now but I won’t let this be the last you see or hear from me.”

There was a conviction in his voice that Brianna found soothing and reassuring. “I love you, Daddy,” she told him quietly and tried to smile for him.

He smiled back and reached out to brush her hair behind her ear, his thumb tracing the outer edge before lightly tugging her earlobe. She had been pressing her mother to let her get her ears pierced but had so far been refused. “We’ll figure something out, little beauty,” he told her, “even if I have to go to Scotland to get you again.”

Brianna felt a slight chill at his suggestion. She didn’t want to leave him and Boston behind… but she didn’t want to lose Mama either. She didn’t want them fighting over her. She just wanted everything to stay the way it had been for as long as she could remember—the three of them together.

“I have something for you,” he added, turning back to his breakfast. “It’s upstairs. Eat up and I’ll help you with whatever packing you have left.”

She forced some of the eggs down before turning to the toast. The only thing that went down easy were the sweet strawberry preserves but even once those were down everything coalesced into a heavy weight in her belly.

Frank took her half-full plate when she pushed it aside and placed both beside the sink for proper cleaning later. Claire was standing by the front windows, peering out at the street. She dropped the curtain and turned to face them as Frank and Brianna passed through and up the stairs. They ignored her.

Frank disappeared into the room he no longer shared with Claire while Brianna went to the room that had been hers. It looked as it always did—perhaps a bit cleaner. She went to her closet and her drawers to find them empty. She thought back to the last few weeks and seemed to remember some of her things disappearing, but it had mostly been her winter and cold weather things so she had just assumed they had been put away somewhere else for the summer season or that they’d been got rid of because she’d outgrown them. Most of her childish toys were long gone, having been donated to various charities over the years as she decided she was too old for them. But there were a few sentimental favorites still in their places on her shelves and desk and dresser.

A calendar was tacked up on the wall with the first day of school marked at the start of September—less than a month away. What would she be doing for school in Scotland? Did they start in September too? Would her mother be able to afford to send her to Catholic school or would she enroll in public school?

Brianna swallowed down the knot of fear and turned to her books and trinkets. Her desk and dresser had been picked over—no doubt the items her mother knew she’d want were safely packed away. But what would happen to the rest of it—the things she couldn’t possibly fit into her bag for the plane?

“I won’t change a thing,” Frank promised her from the doorway. She sat on her bed, facing him. “I’ll keep it just like this for when you come back—whenever that is. And…” he crossed the room to sit beside her, “if you want something or need something while you’re gone, all you have to do is ask and I’ll send you whatever it is. Promise.”

Brianna nodded and leaned against his shoulder, tears rising in her eyes.

“I… I’m…”

“Here,” Frank said, distracting her before she could begin crying by taking her hand and placing something warm and smooth to the touch in it. “I saw this in a shop once and I thought it was something that might suit you. I didn’t buy it right then.” he continued as she opened her palm and saw a flash of gold. “I found myself returning regularly though to see if it was still there and finally I decided to go ahead and get it for you. I thought I’d save it for your birthday or for Christmas but now… I want you to have it to remember that we’ll see each other again—hopefully sooner than we think.”

It was a gold locket, sleek and oval. There was something etched on the front.

“What is it?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to make it out.

“I _think_ it’s intended to be a graduation gift which would make that a diploma,” Frank guessed. “But it reminded me of Clio’s scroll.”

Recognition bloomed in the form of a smile. “Your favorite muse,” she grinned.

“And _yours_ ,” he teased, “if I remember correctly. Didn’t you dress up as her for Halloween and spend your entire evening explaining who you were to the neighbors when you were supposed to be trick-or-treating?”

“And _you_ spent the whole evening between houses telling me the pagan origins of the holiday,” she teased back.

“Open it,” he urged her.

Inside was a small photo of her in that very Halloween costume, improvised from an old bed sheet and some safety pins. Her red curls were partially pinned up while several tendrils listed down to her shoulders. She carried a scroll of her own and a misshapen lyre constructed from painted cardboard and yarn.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Brianna said quietly.

He kissed the crown of her head. “Let me help you put it on.”

* * *

Frank helped Brianna sort through the things in her room prioritizing what she wanted to take with her from what could be left behind and then they sat side-by-side on her bed with her tucked beneath his arm. She fiddled with the locket on its chain, unused to wearing much in the way of jewelry.

“Bree!” Claire called up the stairs all too soon. “Bree, Joe’s here. It’s time to go.”

She tucked the locket down the front of her shirt and wiped at her eyes where her tears were finally beginning to spill over.

Frank’s breath was ragged as he inhaled deeply and clutched her tighter to his chest.

“I love you,” he reiterated, his voice breaking. “When you’ve settled, you’ll write to me and I promise I’ll see you again soon.”

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered into his sweater before pulling back and trying to laugh. “If you have anything you need researched in Scotland, write me about it and I’ll make Mama take me to find it,” she promised.

He smiled and nodded. “You’ll be my research assistant—working in the field while I stay behind.”

They could hear Claire and Joe chatting quietly in the entryway downstairs and Brianna knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She lifted her bag to her shoulder and turned to head downstairs and join her mother. Frank stayed upstairs and watched her leave from the window, holding a hand up to wave goodbye when she looked for him there.


	17. The Man She Knew as 'Mac'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Brianna arrive in Scotland.

Claire held the door open for Brianna to climb into the back seat of Joe’s car. Brianna slammed the door closed behind her and Joe shot her a sympathetic look before she slipped into the front seat herself.

The ride to the airport passed in silence. Brianna sulked and stared out the window, refusing to meet her mother’s eye and trying to avoid Joe’s lest he should see her crying soundlessly.

Claire too stared out the window for most of the ride, watching the buildings passing as the streets wound through the denser parts of the city in pursuit of the airport, penned in by the tall buildings on one side and the open ocean on the other.

Joe’s hand squeezed her knee in a show of support and Claire found herself taking her friend’s hand and holding it tightly, fighting back tears of her own. Her daughter’s anger and hurt permeated the closed space until Claire couldn’t take it anymore. She reached down and rolled the window down letting in the smells and sounds of Boston.

Brianna perked up a bit in the back seat, re-angling her head so she could hear it better and wiping her eyes. Claire watched her in the rearview mirror as best she could.

When the first incision was made with a scalpel, blood began to seep into the surgical field and it affected the surgeon’s ability to see what she was doing. It was necessary to suction the surgical field and cauterize blood vessels to keep the area clear for the surgeon to work effectively. But if she became too concerned with keeping the field entirely clear, she wasted precious seconds and minutes that were required to complete the procedure while minimizing the patient’s risk of later infection and complications.

Claire couldn’t let Brianna’s reaction impair her own view of the larger picture of what she was trying to accomplish. She needed to assess her situation with Brianna to see what needed immediate attention and what Brianna might simply need time and space to manage on her own.

All too soon they arrived at the airport and Joe pulled the car up to the curb to let Claire and Brianna out. Brianna stood sullenly on the sidewalk as Joe helped Claire pull their suitcases from the trunk.

“Take care of yourself, Lady Jane,” Joe said with a smile and a quick hug. “Let me know how things go and when you’re all settled and this thing with Frank is done, I’m expecting an invitation to stay with you.”

Claire grinned back. “I promise. Thank you, Joe. For everything.”

“And you, Miss Bree,” Joe said turning to address Brianna for the first time since picking them up. “I know you were excited about those letters you got from your penpals overseas before. Do you think you might be up for writing me here—letting me know how you and your mama make out?”

Brianna’s jaw was tightly clenched but she nodded before turning away and stalking off toward the doors.

“Good luck, LJ.” Joe watched as Claire lifted the suitcases and hurried after Brianna.

Despite Brianna’s objections to the planned move, she went through the motions at the airport without making a scene. Their flight was delayed, however, so they found themselves seated by the large windows looking out on the tarmac as the planes taxied to and from the gates.

“I know that you’re upset with me,” Claire began quietly, “and you have every right to be. But I’m doing this because I think it’s what’s best for all of us.”

Brianna scoffed but Claire ignored it.

“I don’t want there to be any more surprises or secrets between us, Bree. So… We’re going to be staying at the same inn where we stayed before—just until I can find us an apartment, which Mrs. Graham doesn’t think will take too long. I have a few interviews at the hospital in Inverness, a few in Edinburgh and Glasgow—though I’m hoping for something close to—”

“Why?” Brianna interrupted forcefully but she kept her volume low. “Why are you doing this now? What happened, what… changed? Did Daddy do something?”

Claire frowned and shook her head. “No, sweetheart. It wasn’t anything that Daddy did. It’s… Daddy isn’t… he isn’t your _only_ father.”

Brianna scowled in confusion as Claire scrambled to explain.

“You see… there was a man I loved very much. He’s your father by blood and he would have been your only father. But there was an accident… I thought that he had died and I… I was so upset, so lost,” Claire whispered, “and I knew you were coming. So I went back home and Frank was there… and I knew he’d be a good father to you and he has been. You’ve been so lucky to have him. But… It turns out that Jamie _didn’t_ die in that accident. He… he was trapped somewhere and couldn’t get word to me that he was all right—not until we went to Scotland two months ago.”

Claire watched the blood drain from Brianna’s face.

“So Frank will always be your Daddy,” Claire assured her daughter quietly, “but it’s time for your other father to have a chance to know you—and for you to have a chance to know him.”

“I have _two_ fathers?” Brianna still sounded unconvinced and a little fear was creeping into her voice.

“Yes, sweetheart. Your real… your _other_ father’s name is James Fraser.”

“Is… is he going to be there? When we land, I mean.”

Claire shrugged. She hoped so but given the expression on Brianna’s face was afraid to say so; better for her to have the long plane ride to come to terms with the news.

Brianna blinked a bit and stood from her seat at the end of the row in the boarding area. She looked for a moment like she might strike the glass of the window but instead her hand reached up to trail along it gently. Claire was about to speak when she realized that it was the lines of her reflection Brianna was tracing—the sure jaw and straight nose, the slightly slanted eyes. Brianna’s other hand went up to clutch at a necklace she was wearing—it wasn’t one Claire was familiar with.

“What’s he like?” Brianna asked, a slight, nervous tremor in her voice. “Do you think he’ll like me?”

“Oh, Bree,” Claire moved to Brianna’s seat and reached out to rub her hand along her daughter’s upper arm. “He already loves you—has since the moment he knew you were on your way.”

Brianna turned to her mother blinking back tears. Claire pulled Brianna into her arms, pressing her daughter’s cheek to her chest and letting her cry.

As much as Brianna wanted to stay mad at her mother, she longed to be held and reassured. Though she had enjoyed her time in Scotland before, the prospect of living there for who knows how long brought back all the worst parts of that trip—listening to folk in the town speaking in that guttural language that she didn’t understand; the unfamiliar food; the way that everyone watched her after they heard her speak, their gaze following the girl who didn’t sound like them and therefore wasn’t one of them. How many people did she even know in Scotland? There was Daddy’s friend, the Reverend Wakefield and his son, Roger; Fiona, of course, and Fiona’s grandmother, Mrs. Graham; Mac, the man who lived with Mrs. Graham, was the only other person she could think of and she didn’t even know his whole name.

So there were five people, aside from Mama, whom she would know when she got there. And one important person whom she didn’t and who might even be waiting for them when they landed—the man who wanted to take Daddy’s place, the man who had ruined everything.

Claire’s hand rubbed Brianna’s back for a few vigorous strokes before she pulled away to peer up into the child’s face.

“It will take some getting used to, I know… but it will all be fine before too long. Now they’re calling for us to board.” Claire pulled a handkerchief out and held it for Brianna to take and dry her eyes.

Brianna took it reluctantly, holding it tight in her hand when she was done.

* * *

 The plane ride was long and given Brianna’s sleepover the evening before, it didn’t surprise Claire that her daughter slept fitfully on and off throughout the flight.

Claire hadn’t slept particularly well the night before either—every sound she heard from upstairs had jolted her awake. She half expected Frank to wake her during the night to yell at her some more but he’d stayed above stairs. As Brianna’s head fell against her shoulder, Claire slipped an arm around her and cuddled with her as much as the limited space would allow.

How long would it take Frank to gather his resources? How long until he hired lawyers of his own to come after her for custody of Brianna? Claire tried to banish her fears by going over the promises her own lawyers had made—in truth there was only one lawyer she had ever trusted and he was two hundred years dead. But she had Brianna now and soon she would have Jamie there to reassure her as well; soon she would be able to rest.

Their flight landed very late, in part thanks to the time difference. Vaguely rested, Brianna’s nervousness began to overtake her lingering anger. She swallowed hard as Claire led them through customs, showing the attendant their paperwork and passports.

“She must be a tired one,” he commented when Brianna failed to realize he had been directing a question to her. Claire nudged her to bring her to attention. “I said ‘Welcome to Scotland,’” he reiterated, handing Brianna’s passport back to her directly. Her small booklet was marked with only two older stamps—the marks from their trip earlier in the year.

Brianna blinked at the man and let Claire guide her past the counter and towards the baggage claim area. She watched her mother’s eyes scanning the room and knew she was looking for _him_.

“You said you didn’t know if he would be here,” she reminded her mother, clinging to her arm. She was afraid to look, to try to guess which one might be him.

“I think he’ll come though Mrs. Graham will have had to drive them,” Claire explained, “he can’t drive a car—not yet anyway.”

Brianna wanted to bury her face in Claire’s coat, hide from the world, but she knew she was too old for such behavior and settled instead for turning around and looking back the way they had come.

“You’ll tell me if you see him, won’t you?” she asked, looking up at her mother. “Please?”

Claire only spared a moment to glance down at Brianna’s anxious face. The furrow in her brow softened briefly as she gave Brianna a reassuring smile and nod in promise. Then she went back to scanning the crowd of people waiting to collect their newly arrived loved ones.

Brianna knew the moment Claire spotted him. The furrow disappeared entirely, the bags beneath and lines around her eyes diminished, and there was something in her expression that gave Brianna pause. Curiosity got the better of her and she peeked over her shoulder.

She started and looked back and forth between her mother and the man she knew as Mac before turning around to face him properly. Mrs. Graham was standing beside him waving for them to hurry and get out of the way of the rest of the passengers making their way through customs.

Claire finally looked down again to Brianna’s confused expression. “Yes, love. That’s him.”

Brianna stepped decidedly away from her mother but made no immediate move towards Mac or Mrs. Graham. It was another moment before she could bring herself to meet Mac’s eye.

She’d thought he was a friend but because of him she was here in Scotland instead of at home in her own bed with Daddy downstairs working in his study and Mama resting or at the hospital or… Had he known? He must have and yet he hadn’t said anything to her in their letters—nothing that she could think of even hinted at the truth. She had been curious about him and writing with him she had begun to care about him, Mrs. Graham’s mysterious boarder.

He met and held her eye as Claire ushered her forward reluctantly.

“How was yer flight then, Claire?” Mrs. Graham began chattering to fill the silence as Brianna watched the man her mother said was her father. “If ye’ve no had much time to rest, there’s a good drive back tonight to reach Inverness if ye can manage sleepin’ in the auto. I’ve a breakfast dish ready in the icebox at home that will cook in no time at all and then Mrs. Baird’s opens for ye to register at half past nine. Then ye’ll be able to make it to a proper bed for a time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Graham,” Claire said, shifting her handbag from one side to the other. “It was an uneventful flight. Bree here even managed to sleep a bit but I’m sure she could do with some more.” Claire habitually raised her hand to brush it over Brianna’s hair but the girl shrugged away from the gesture.

Claire withdrew her hand with a brief glance at Jamie, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and minor hurt.

“Will ye give me that, Claire?” Mrs. Graham nodded to her handbag. “I can take it with me and go fetch the auto round to the front while Mr. Fraser here helps ye fetch yer bags from the claim.”

“Thank you,” Claire agreed, handing the bag over after removing a few necessary items and slipping them into her pocket.

Mrs. Graham smiled at the trio before leaving them to find their way forward on their own.

“Brianna,” Claire began to attempt an awkward introduction but was cut off by Jamie addressing Brianna directly.

“I have something for ye,” he told her. Brianna hadn’t noticed the small wrapped parcel clutched in his hands yet. He held it out for her to take. “Be careful now. It’s heavier than ye’d expect.”

It was certainly heavier than she’d anticipated but nothing she couldn’t handle. The wrapping turned out to be a large paper bag folded over and wrapped around the item several times. She reached in and pulled out a horseshoe.

“Ye said ye wanted one for luck,” he reminded her. “In yer letters. I told ye I’d get ye one from the stables and that the next time ye were in Scotland I’d take ye riding sometime.”

Brianna blinked at the gift, trying to find the words to politely thank him but afraid something else might slip out instead. Why did it have to be Mac? She liked him, which made it awfully hard to hate him too.

“Now ye’ve had more experience on planes, do ye have more to add to what ye wrote last time?”

“Thank you,” she finally managed, “for this,” she nodded at the horseshoe in her hands.

“We’ll need to find somewhere for you to hang it,” Claire remarked, resting one hand on Brianna’s shoulder while she took the horseshoe from Brianna for closer inspection. “Once we find a more permanent place to live. Which way are you supposed to mount it for it to be lucky?” she asked but Brianna’s limbs had locked as her pulse began to race.

“Isn’t it the horseshoe itself that’s supposed to be lucky?” Jamie inquired. “What does it matter how it’s mounted? So long as it’s no on a horse’s foot trying to trample ye, I’d think it was verra lucky indeed.”

Mama had said they’d be going to stay at the same place as the last time. Mac lived at Mrs. Graham’s house. What did Mama mean when she said ‘once _we_ find a more permanent place to live’?

“It’s something to do with either catching and holding the luck so it doesn’t run out,” Claire explained, holding the horseshoe so that the two ends pointed toward the ceiling, “or pouring luck on everyone,” she added turning it the other way so the ends pointed at the floor.

Mama didn’t mean that they would find a house _together_ , did she? But what else could she mean? This was the whole reason they had left Boston, left Daddy— _he_ was the reason they were here at all.

“Sounds to me like it doesna matter which way ye hang it then,” Jamie pointed out.

“Which way would you prefer, Bree?”

They stared at her as she came close to bursting into tears.

“Sweetheart,” Claire breathed, handing the horseshoe off to Jamie so she could wrap Brianna in a hug. “I’m sorry. It’s a lot, I know.”

“Will you stop saying that,” Brianna snapped though she kept her voice low.

Claire started and looked to Jamie apologetically. He crouched as best he could trying to get closer to Brianna but not too close. She was forced to look at him. She could see a small shadow that was her reflection in his eyes.

“Ye’ve a right to be angry,” he told her. “We’re turning things upside-down on ye and it’s no fair—we ken that—but things are no going to stop changing just because ye dinna like it or because ye’re no ready.”

If anyone else had said it, the words would have sounded like a reprimand, but he had a way of speaking that produced quite a different effect. He continued to hold her attention.

“There are many things that happen that we’re no ready for. I wasna ready when either of my parents passed; I wasna ready when I met and married yer mam; and I wasna ready to lose the both of ye when I did; I dinna ken that I’m ready or know how to be a father to ye now,” he whispered his confession. “But while what comes our way always tries us, sometimes it rewards us as well. We must rise to the occasion either way. Now…” he finished, rising to his normal height once more, “I dinna want ye to feel we’re moving _too_ fast for ye. So long as we do move forward, I dinna mind letting ye set the pace.”

He held out a hand for her to shake and for a moment she stared at it.

“What… what should I call you?” she asked quietly.

Jamie’s offered hand moved to scratch at his head.

“Why don’t ye keep calling me ‘Mac’ for now,” he suggested, “until ye think of something else ye’re comfortable with.”

Brianna thought for a moment before nodding her agreement. “Okay. Can I have my horseshoe back then, Mac?”

He smiled and passed the parcel back to her, raising his finger and tentatively tapping her affectionately on the cheek. She gave him a small smile in return.

Claire broke the calm moment suddenly. “Mrs. Graham!” she exclaimed. “She must have brought the car around by now. We need to find our bags and go meet her before she begins to worry.”


	18. Brief Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having arrived in Scotland during the night, there's some time before Mrs. Baird's inn opens for Claire and Brianna can check in.

Brianna fell asleep in the car on the long ride from the airport to Mrs. Graham’s house. The older woman hesitated to drive too fast in the dark hours of the early morning but with everyone a bit exhausted—physically and emotionally—they rode in companionable silence. The toughest part, in many ways, was over.

It was close to three o’clock in the morning when they pulled into Mrs. Graham’s drive and up to her house. She yawned as she switched off the car and climbed gingerly out to let them inside.

“It’ll be some hours yet before Mrs. Baird opens for the day,” she advised Claire and Jamie quietly. “Best get some rest now if ye can. Ye might as well leave yer things in the boot for later. But now I hear my bed calling. I’ll see ye in a while for breakfast.” With another yawn she began pulling herself up the stairs by the railing and left the front door hanging open for them to do with as they saw fit.

Before Claire could rouse Brianna, Jamie had leaned into the backseat where she was slumped against the locked door and fiddled with the seatbelt until it came loose. Then he slipped his arms around Brianna’s back and under her knees, lifting and sliding her out of the car with ease.

“I’ll put her up on my bed,” Jamie whispered to Claire as Brianna’s head lolled against his shoulder.

Claire nodded and pulled Brianna’s backpack from its spot on the floor behind the front passenger’s seat. She brought up the rear, closing the doors softly behind her and testing her weight cautiously as she followed Jamie up the stairs and down the hall to his rented room.

It was small and sparse—a twin bed with a table and reading lamp beside it, a single shelf with several borrowed books stacked in haphazard piles, a door-less closet with only a few items neatly hanging from hangers—but warm and lived-in.

Jamie lay Brianna down on top of the coverlet, brushing her hair out of her face and tucking some strands behind her ear. Despite the low light it was possible to make out the flush in her cheeks that Claire knew meant she was dreaming deeply. She smiled as Jamie hesitated then leaned down and brushed a light kiss to Brianna’s forehead.

There was a tartan blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Claire set Brianna’s backpack on the floor and took up the blanket, shaking it out over Brianna and letting it settle naturally then fingered the vibrant lines of the woven pattern.

“It’s not one I remember,” she whispered to Jamie who stood watching Brianna sleep.

“The auld tartans are long lost but some have made and claimed new ones,” Jamie explained. “Tha’s one of the MacKenzie tartans—closer than most. I havena found a Fraser one true enough to satisfy.”

Claire came around the bed and slipped her arms around his waist. “You will. And if you don’t, there may be a way for you to design one from your memory.”

He smiled faintly and brought his arm up around her shoulder, pulling her in closer so he could kiss the crown of her head.

“Let’s let the lass sleep a bit,” he suggested. “I dinna think I can stand to sleep now ye’re both under a roof with me—no when I have to let ye go again so soon.”

“We’ll hardly be far,” Claire pointed out even as she tightened her own grip on him. Her exhaustion remained but it wasn’t as wearying as it had been on the plane. They began to move out of the room and down the stairs.

“Aye. And the lass kens the truth now… though she doesna like it.”

“Nobody likes change,” Claire philosophized, “but we all get used to it sooner or later. Besides, I’m the one she blames for what’s happened.” She didn’t mean for it to come out as self-pitying but the thought of Brianna holding a grudge against her was disheartening. At almost ten-years-old Brianna had enough Fraser stubbornness to be able to hold out for some time—what her daughter would be like when she became a teenager and even more resources and reserves at her disposal, Claire wasn’t ready to imagine.

They made their way into Mrs. Graham’s sitting room, Jamie finding a lamp and turning it on so they could find the sofa and sit.

“Did she take the news better or worse than Frank?” Jamie asked with curiosity and a sharp edge.

“He knew something was coming, I’m sure, but not this,” she confessed letting her head slide down the back of the sofa to rest on Jamie’s shoulder. “He knew you’d survived, you know—Culloden, that is. He found your records from Ardsmuir and a few other things.”

“He did?”

Claire nodded and yawned. Jamie slid down a bit letting his legs stretch out toward the center of the parlor while his arm wrapped around Claire’s shoulders pulling her against him.

“When I told him I was leaving he thought I was going to try taking Bree through the stones to look for you.”

“But that would be too dangerous,” Jamie objected. “Do ye even know if she can pass through the stones?”

“We didn’t think you could,” Claire reminded him. “And yet, here you are.”

“Aye, here _we_ are.” He lifted his free left hand and pressed it to Claire’s right hand so that their fingers aligned for a brief moment before a slight shift allowed them to interlock comfortably.

They both sighed deeply and slipped off to sleep, Jamie’s head falling against the back of the sofa while Claire’s left hand wrapped itself in the fabric of Jamie’s shirt, pulling it to her chest like a security blanket.

* * *

Brianna felt like she was being suffocated, the air around her growing hotter and damper and more uncomfortable with each breath. It was enough to wake her from her deep sleep.

She had drawn the blanket up over her head as she buried her face in a pillow and cutting off her avenue to fresh, cool, breathable air. The blanket was scratchy against her cheek, too, a sensation unfamiliar enough to shove her into half-awareness.

This wasn’t her room.

Her panic subsided for a moment as she remembered that she was supposed to be sleeping over at Beverly’s house. She readjusted the blanket so she could breathe more comfortably and settled into the pillows again, yawning and closing her eyes.

The fraying edge of the blanket tickled her nose. It didn't smell right, even for Beverly’s house. As she struggled to place the odor her mind raced through the events of the preceding day and she came awake more forcefully jolting upright in bed.

Where had they gone after the airport? Where was her mother?

A sharp pang of panic seized her chest until her eyes adjusted to the pale light from the window and she was able to make out the shapes of the objects in the room around her. Once she’d turned the light on her panic was replaced with grief and longing.

Nothing about the room was familiar to her. She drew the blanket up and wrapped it more tightly about her shoulders, squeezing her arms across her middle and trying not to cry. When she remembered the locket around her neck, she clasped it tightly in her fist and whispered, “Daddy,” as she let a few tears slip through.

She noticed that the light from the window was growing stronger and the room was coming into clearer focus.

It wasn’t a spare room as she’d first thought; it was Mac’s room.

The realization proved distracting. She kept the blanket around her shoulders, preferring the warm reassurance provided by its weight as she slipped down from the bed and onto the floor.

Her shoes had never been removed and she was still wearing her clothes from the day before. She yawned and started exploring the room as quietly as she could––she didn’t want to attract attention and get into trouble for touching things that didn’t belong to her.

She couldn’t reach the books on the shelf and most of the bindings had words she didn’t understand––a few didn’t even look like English; some did look like books that Daddy had in his study, in fact… She recognized one of the ones that Daddy had written on top, a pencil sticking out from between the pages.

Brianna wasn’t sure what to make of it so she moved on to the closet. Mac’s clothes weren’t as fancy as Daddy’s. The fabrics were coarser and heavier; there were some faint stains that looked like they’d been tackled several times but still hadn’t washed out properly. He did have a pair of pants but there were several plaid skirts––no, not skirts; she remembered they were called kilts, though she hadn’t seen any so close before and she hadn’t seen too many men wearing them the last time they’d been to Scotland. Of course, Mac had been one of the men who she _had_ see wear one.

She returned to the little table beside his bed and examined the drawer. There was a small keyhole above the drawer pull.

Brianna bit her lip as she ran her nail around the edge of the brass plate that formed the keyhole. She knew she shouldn’t––but maybe it would be locked anyway.

She tugged the drawer pull gently, expecting resistance.

It wasn’t locked.

She pulled slowly and steadily, wincing as the runners stuck for a moment and groaned before releasing. There were papers in the drawer, and letters. Some newspaper clippings that had gone yellow. An old picture of Mama was on one of them––something to do with fairies, of all things.

Brianna set it aside.

There was paperwork that looked a bit like the bills and bank stuff that Daddy got in the mail too––boring. She put those aside as well.

Then she found the letters she’d written to Mac back when he was just a pen pal––before he became… whatever it was he was now. He’d kept not just the letters themselves, which had been neatly stacked in the order he’d received them; he’d kept the envelopes too, with the special doodles that Brianna had sketched along the outsides. Each had been opened carefully so that the doodles remained intact.

Some letters had Mama’s handwriting on them––he hadn’t kept her envelopes. Tucked inside the packet of her letters, though, were several photographs. There was one of her when she was a newborn––it came from Mama’s purse; another was her school picture from first grade, back when she insisted on wearing her hair in low pigtails; she hadn’t seen the ones Mrs. Graham had taken when they visited before but now she saw herself and Mac both with chocolate smeared across their smiling mouths and Mama grinning with a hand each on their shoulders.

It was a familiar pose––there were plenty of photos of her and Mama and Daddy standing like that or similarly in the photo albums at home––but it was like nothing she’d seen before. Their smiles were real. She could see her teeth, still stained with chocolate and the same for Mac; Mama’s eyes were crinkled at the edges from laughing. Mac’s hair was only a shade darker than her own and he had the same color eyes as her too. Brianna had always wished her eyes were more like Daddy’s but now she could see how much brighter they made her cheeks and hair in a way Daddy’s darker brown couldn’t do.

She looked like him––like Mac.

Unsettled, she hastily put the photos and letters back in the drawer, then took them out again to refold them and put them back exactly the way she’d found them.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Brianna moved to look out the window. The sun was rising but she didn’t see a clock anywhere in the room. It must be early but between the time difference from Boston to Inverness, having been up half the night when she stayed over at Beverly’s house, and then sleeping on the plane, her body was all out of whack.

Her stomach rumbled. Was anyone else even awake for her to be able to ask for something to eat?

Hovering near the closed bedroom door, Brianna took a deep breath and eased it open listening intently. She didn’t hear anyone moving around upstairs but she was pretty sure she smelled breakfast.

Years of practice on Christmas mornings meant she was able to sneak downstairs with silent ease, even gauging accurately which step had the weak spot that would groan loudly if she put her full weight on it.

A light was on in the sitting room––Mrs. Graham with her morning tea and the newspaper, perhaps? She bit her lip and debated whether to take a peek in.

She was hungry and food was in the kitchen, which she _didn’t_ need to pass through the sitting room to get to. She also wasn’t sure what she would find if she did look. Did she want to know?

The creaking of furniture was enough for her curiosity to win out and she inched toward the sitting room doorway.

Mac and her mother were on the sofa. He was stretched out on his back with one long leg hanging off, foot on the floor; his head rested on one of its arms, his hair––longer than she was used to seeing on men––gleamed in the light of the nearby lamp. Her mother looked like she’d been leaning against his shoulder but had slumped over and was curled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin and his arms around her.

They were both asleep, faces more than just relaxed. As Mac breathed out, her mother’s curls quivered.

It was a far cry from the way she’d found Mama and Daddy sleeping when a storm woke her in the night––turned away each other in their queen size bed, there was more than enough room for her to crawl in and worm her way between them. There wasn’t enough space for her between Mama and Mac…

She pulled the blanket tighter around her again and blinked against tears of loneliness.

Brown curls tickled Jamie’s nose so that he had to raise his hand to brush them away. It was enough to bring him from deep sleep into a partial wakefulness. He peered down his nose at Claire’s head and smiled faintly. He smoothed her hair down and away from his face, then pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Brianna must have moved or made a noise because Mac’s head whipped up suddenly to see her standing in the doorway. She could see his hold on her mother tighten reflexively and a flash of panic in his eyes before he relaxed a little. His jaw clenched then forced its way into a tired smile as he gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement.

She fought the blush rising up her neck and into her cheeks and lost, turning on her heel and scampering down the hall to the kitchen, no longer worried about making noise and waking someone.

“Oh, well, ye’re up early,” Mrs. Graham remarked from her spot at the stove. “Ye wouldn’t happen to be hungry, would ye?”

Brianna nodded and moved to sit at the table while Mrs. Graham removed the pot of beans from the burner and carried it over to the counter where toast and eggs were waiting.

“I hope ye slept well––as much as ye could,” Mrs. Graham added as she settled a plate in front of Brianna and placed another across from it for herself before sitting down. “I ken I should ha’ stayed in bed a bit longer and got a bit more rest given the driving in the wee morning hours, but I’m a body used to a schedule and as soon as the sun is up and about I canna help but follow it. Yer… Mr. Fraser is generally the same way, I’ve found, though… given the circumstances… I’m sure they’ll be up and about soon. He’s been longing for this since I first came across him.”

Brianna looked up from her plate with a mouth full of food and narrowed eyes.

“Did you know him––them––from… before? Before my mom thought he was dead and married my dad, I mean,” Brianna said as best she could around the food in her mouth.

“Something along those lines,” Mrs. Graham said with a broad but dismissive smile, her fork hovering in the air above her plate. “It’s all a bit complicated and dull. But ye’d best get a good breakfast into ye––it’ll be a long day settling in at Mrs. Baird’s.”


	19. Skittish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna and Claire spend time with Jamie where he works with horses.

After checking in at Mrs. Baird’s inn, Claire settled Brianna in to watch television while she made several rounds of calls. The highest priorities now that they had arrived in Inverness were to confirm her interview appointments at the local hospitals and private practices, set up viewing appointments with the landlords at the open properties Mrs. Graham had located for her, and contact the local school to register Brianna for the approaching term. She finished in time to take Brianna to lunch and then they would have the afternoon free.

“Do you want to come with me to see the flats and meet the landlords?” Claire asked Brianna as they enjoyed some soup and sandwiches at a local cafe. “I want it to be somewhere you like, too.”

Brianna shrugged and slurped her soup loudly.

“Was there anything in particular you wanted to do this afternoon?” Claire kept trying. “My first appointment is tomorrow morning so I was going to have you stay with Mrs. Graham, if that’s all right. I believe Fiona will be there for you to play with.”

Brianna began fidgeting uncomfortably but she remained quiet.

“You know… once we find a place to live and I start work––you’ll start school––we’ll probably have to find a schedule that works as far as where you’ll go after school. I can’t have you home by yourself at your age.”

“You mean you need to find me a babysitter?” Claire could hear the eye roll in Brianna’s voice. “Or would they be called a nanny here?”

“I was thinking… Ja–– _Mac_ ––works at a stable not too far from here and I know you told him… _before_ that you were interested in horses…” Claire began.

Brianna’s eyes went wide and she began shaking her head.

“We’ll both go today and if it looks like you’ll just be in his way––”

“Mama, no, please,” Brianna interrupted. “Can’t I just go to Mrs. Graham’s and have her watch me? She’ll probably be doing the same for Fiona anyway––she’s only a year or two behind me.”

“It’ll be good for you to spend time with him on your own,” Claire insisted. “It won’t hurt to look into it, either way. I don’t know that his employers will even allow it in the first place.”

Brianna sighed and slumped back in her chair. “Fine,” she conceded, pushing her half-finished bowl of soup away.

Claire refrained from pressing her to finish her lunch.

* * *

“Mr. Fraser,” Ewen MacDonald called from the seat of his tractor. “There looks to be a pair of ladies on their way up to see ye.”

Jamie crossed to the paddock fence and stepped up onto the bottom board. He could just make out Claire’s dark head with Brianna’s fiery one a few steps behind.

MacDonald looked back and forth between Jamie and Claire and Brianna. “The little one favors ye,” he observed. “Didna ken ye were marrit.”

“It’s a complicated situation,” Jamie responded in a tone of voice that put an immediate end to any further inquiries from MacDonald.

He finished climbing over the fence and headed to meet Claire and Brianna. MacDonald raised an eyebrow but started the tractor up again and headed off to the fields where he and the other field hands were preparing for the first wave of the harvest.

“So this is where you’ve been working,” Claire remarked with a smile as she gazed at the stables and paddock. “Not so different then.”

“No, not so different. Horses havena changed as much as everything around them has.”

“So what d’you do with them?” Brianna asked keeping her distance but straining to see the young horse that was enjoying its freedom in the paddock.

Several stall doors overlooked the expanse and the horse Jamie had been working with was prancing freely in front of its penned in fellows earning a few jealous whinnies and one that had the authority of a reprimand.

“Horses are like any creature ye might take as a pet,” Jamie began lecturing, urging her to come forward. “They need to be trained just as ye would a cat or a dog. Have ye never had a dog of yer own then?”

“No. I’ve always wanted one and Daddy promised we would get one when I finally turned ten,” she said with an air of challenge.

Jamie glanced at Claire who had pressed her eyes and lips into familiar lines of frustration.

“I grew up wi’ dogs and horses about. All the animals ye’d find on a farm like this,” he told her, striding toward the paddock with an ease and confidence Claire realized he lacked in other modern settings. “Workin’ wi’ animals ye ken where ye stand. Now, would ye like to meet Thistle? She’s the filly I’m workin’ wi’ today. She’s been weaned from her mam but isna used to being on her own much yet.”

“So what are you going to do with her?” Brianna asked, curiosity overpowering her reluctance. Her eyes were locked on the beautiful young horse still prancing about the paddock.

“I’m just going to grab a simple halter and lead,” he explained walking slowly with Brianna toward the fence, “get those on her and walk her about the paddock a bit. She’s had them on before but no for long and she’s no been out of the paddock wi’ them yet. Once she’s used to them that’s what I’ll do––take her out and walk her on the other side of the fence, still in sight of her mam, ye ken. If she does well, I’ll keep going and take her a bit further and further, though it’ll likely be some days before she trusts me enough to take her far from her mam.”

“Can I pet her?” Brianna asked. They had reached the fence and the curious filly had wandered over to investigate. Brianna was mesmerized by the white dappled body of the horse. It was unlikely her coat would ever be pure white but Brianna found those slight imperfections in her coloring endearing and a bit like her own freckles.

“Aye,” Jamie nodded and smiled. “Move slow, though. Too fast and she might nip ye. Let me get ye a handful of hay to offer her––she’ll adore ye for it.” He headed for the door of the barn and the filly followed his progress along the fence.

When he reemerged he had the halter and lead slung over his shoulder and a partial bale of hay under his other arm. Thistle began to whinny as she watched the delicious strands of hay falling behind Jamie as he walked.

“It’ll be yer job to distract the lass while I get this o’er her head,” he told Brianna, setting the hay on the ground beside her. “Click yer tongue and make sure ye hold yer hand flat when ye give it to her, aye?”

He climbed up and over the fence in a flash leaving Brianna staring between the hay and her mother.

“Go ahead,” Claire encouraged her with a nod.

The hay was dry and prickly in her and as Brianna pulled a fistful free. Thistle snorted and her ears pricked forward as she pressed against the fence straining to reach the food.

“There ye go lass,” Jamie crooned getting his arm around the filly’s neck and patting her gently. He shrugged his shoulder and the halter slid down to his elbow.

Brianna held her arm out straight and stiff, inching it closer and closer to the horse.

“Dinna be afraid to use her name,” Jamie advised. He had the halter ready in his hand.

“Hello Thistle,” Brianna said in a high, nervous tone meant to imitate Jamie’s reassuring crooning. “Hello. Are you hungry, girl? Here… you… go.” She winced as the horse’s lips pulled back to reveal her large, square teeth but all she felt was the warm, damp breath and velvety muzzle as Thistle pulled the fistful of hay into her mouth and those teeth began to grind.

The filly pulled her head back in enough to allow for more comfortable chewing and Jamie was able to get the halter on her with no more objection than the twitching of her ears and annoyed swishing of her tail.

Brianna reached up with her now empty hand, standing on her toes to reach for the horse’s neck. Not realizing Brianna had no more food to offer, Thistle bent eagerly to investigate the child’s proffered hand, snorting at its emptiness as Brianna made contact with Thistle’s nose.

“Careful now,” Jamie warned as he got firm hold of the lead rope to keep the filly under his control. “Dinna get yer fingers near those teeth or into her nose. She’ll no thank ye for that.”

Claire came up behind Brianna with another handful of hay for the horse, offering it with one hand while she reached for the beast’s neck with the other.

“You’re quite a beauty, aren’t you,” she told the filly. “Will she be for riding or breeding?”

“Riding first,” Jamie nodded. “They’re looking to send her to a riding school someday. Dinna expect her to grow too large and her mam’s a gentle one. Should be good wi’ weans though she’s spirited now.”

“Can _I_ ride her?” Brianna perked up.

Jamie laughed. “She isna ready for riding yet and she doesna ken ya well enough either. But ye are the perfect size to start her with when she is ready.” He scrunched up his brow and tapped a finger against his lips in contemplation. “If ye truly mean to ride her, ye’ll need to work wi’ her first. I can teach ye how to take care of her––muck her stall, mix her feed, keep her healthy and well. Ye’ve made a good start to it. She seems to like ye fine so far.”

Brianna looked to her mother for permission. Claire nodded and when Brianna turned back to Jamie, his hand was extended for her to shake. She licked her lips and hesitated for a moment before taking his hand.

“Can I start now?”

Jamie chuckled and nodded. “Can ye climb the fence or do ye want to come in at the gate?”

Brianna was already halfway up the fence before Jamie finished his question though she needed his help to get down and into the paddock. He kept a firm hold of Thistle’s lead line.

“Keep towards her head and dinna turn yer back on her. Dinna move too fast or ye’ll spook her.” He held out part of the lead line for her to take. “I’m goin’ to keep my hold here so she doesna run away wi’ ye but if ye want to walk ahead we’re just goin’ once around this way,” he gestured with his head. “Soon as ye’re ready ye can start. Click yer tongue when ye want her to start and when ye want her to stop say, ‘whoa,’ so she’ll start to ken the signals.”

Claire watched as Brianna held tightly to the lead rope and followed Jamie’s instructions exactly, her reservations about Jamie and their new living situation forgotten. The trio were doing so well after the first circuit of the paddock that they continued on for a second loop.

Jamie stopped them near the barn where Thistle’s mother, Bluebell, stood watching in her stall. He tied Thistle to a post and then walked over to the fence again with Brianna, helping her to climb over the fence again.

“I want to see how she does leaving the paddock,” he explained, “but just in case she doesna take it well, I want to be sure ye’re far from her hooves.”

Brianna nodded in understanding then watched rapt as Jamie went back to fetch the filly and slowly brought the tiring and reluctant filly outside the paddock. She didn’t want to go far so rather than lead her around the outside of the fence, Jamie walked her back and forth between the first three fence posts then brought her back into the barn for some time with her mother. Claire and Brianna waited for him to return.

“She’s in her stall now,” he told Brianna. “Why don’t ye take the rest of that hay there,” he nodded to the remnants of the small bale he’d brought out earlier, “and introduce yerself to the rest of the horses in the stable? They’re all gentle enough if ye dinna move too fast and they’ll be more than happy to see ye if ye’re bearing food.”

Brianna swallowed her excitement and managed not to run as she gathered the hay and marched to the barn. Claire and Jamie trailed behind, Jamie keeping a careful eye on her.

“Your employer won’t mind having her here helping you?” Claire asked quietly.

“Nah, MacDonald’s reasonable so far as I can tell. He’ll no have to pay _her_ for her help and if he can tell the buyer the filly has experience being round the lass he might be able to get a higher price for her,” Jamie reasoned away Claire’s concern.

“And do you think _you’re_ ready for something like this?” Claire asked. “She’s in awe right now but when it comes to being real work…”

“Yes… and no. I keep looking at her and seeing everything I missed with her… with you. She’d have been a great horsewoman by now if––”

“I know,” Claire interrupted. “Just… focus on here and now as best you can. We’re working to build our future with her.”

Jamie nodded. “The real test will be when you go and it’s just her and I, no? She’s like that filly. Behaved enough when her mam can see her but nervous of being out of yer sight.”

Claire reached over and rubbed a hand against the back of Jamie’s shirt, unintentionally raising a cloud of dust.

“Then just be your calm and reassuring self,” she advised before rising on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “And pray these appointments and meetings I have go quickly and smoothly.”

“She starts her school term soon, does she no? What did ye do wi’ her when ye were working at the hospital in Boston?” Jamie inquired.

“Frank’s class schedule was reliably flexible,” she answered carefully. “He was able to drive home to meet her bus and then take her with him back to his office until he was done for the day.”

Jamie nodded with pursed lips.

Brianna finished with the horses in the barn and emerged wiping her hands on her pants.

“I’ll call you later tonight,” Claire whispered to Jamie before giving him another quick kiss on the cheek.

He wrapped an arm around her waist before she could step away and he pulled her in for a proper kiss. Claire melted into him before gently pushing against his chest to extricate herself. Looking into each other's eyes they exchanged subtle nods before parting.

“We ought to be getting back, Bree,” Claire told her subdued daughter. “Mrs. Baird will be having tea ready soon.” She held her hand out for Brianna to take but the girl brushed past it.

Claire pressed her lips together for one final glance at Jamie and then followed after Brianna.

“You seemed to enjoy working with the horses well enough,” Claire remarked as they made their way back to Mrs. Baird’s.

Brianna shrugged and nodded. “I’d like to learn how to ride. Annette Soranson is always talking about how she got to take lessons at her parents’ riding club. She’s supposed to be learning how to do jumps soon.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about you learning jumping but riding’s a fine skill to have and Mac’s a good teacher.”

“He’s all right,” Brianna admitted, “but he’s not Daddy.”

“Sweetheart,” Claire said, reaching out to take Brianna by the shoulder and turn her so they could face one another, “you don’t have to pick one or the other. It’s all right for you to like and love them both. Lord knows I have.”

Brianna didn’t look convinced. “If you still loved Daddy we wouldn’t be here.”

Claire sighed. “You might not believe me but I _do_ still love Daddy. It’s just not the same kind of love that I have for Jamie––for Mac,” she corrected herself.

“You love Mac more,” Brianna said simply.

Claire didn’t have to say it for Brianna to understand the deep truth of what she’d said.

“ _You_ are the most important person for me, Bree,” she insisted. “No one matters more to me than you do… and no one matters more to Mac than you, either.”

They continued on their way in silence.

* * *

Brianna lay in bed reading while her mother used the phone in the hallway to talk with Mac and Mrs. Graham later that night.

“Would you like to say goodnight to Mac?” Claire asked, peeking her head into the room.

She shook her head quickly then felt heat rise in her face as her mother’s expression faltered.

“Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow,” she called before her mother could slip away completely. “I want to work with Thistle again,” she added to make it clear that she was interested in the horse, not Mac.

Brianna turned her attention back to her book so she wouldn’t have to see the look on her mother’s face. Marking her page, she set the book on the table next to her bed and reached up to turn off the light. When her mother came back into the room a few minutes later, Brianna had her eyes pressed tightly closed and was breathing with exaggerated depth.

Claire, too, pretended Brianna had already fallen asleep. She crossed to the window and drew the curtains closed to block some of the moon’s light and then crossed to slip beneath the covers next to her daughter.

They’d survived the first day.


	20. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Brianna spend time alone together while Claire has job interviews and looks at apartments.

Jamie had tied Thistle’s bridle to the post so she couldn’t move much while he demonstrated the proper techniques for brushing the horse to Brianna. 

It was their first stretch of time alone together and both were a little on edge. Brianna watched his movements and observed the way the muscles in Thistle’s back twitched when Mac hit that certain spot. 

“D’ye want to try it?” he asked after a few minutes. 

She nodded and brushed her hair out of her face before stepping forward to take the brush from him. Jamie moved and grabbed a crate for her to use as a stool then took a firmer hold of Thistle’s bridle so she couldn’t move her head enough to nip at Brianna. 

Her strokes were tentative at first but after Thistle snorted with approval, Brianna grew more confident and began to smile as she brushed the filly. Thistle flicked her tail at Brianna who giggled while Jamie grinned with pride.

“Can I braid her mane?” Brianna asked after she finished the necessary brushing. 

Jamie’s brow furrowed before he glanced over his shoulder to be sure MacDonald wasn’t nearby.

“If she’ll stand for it ye can give her a plait or two.” He got hold of the bridle right near Thistle’s mouth and used his free hand to stroke her muzzle reassuringly. 

“Annette Soranson brought pictures into school once of the horses from one of the shows she went to,” Brianna informed Jamie as she ran her fingers through Thistle’s mane and separated a small chunk into three sections for plaiting. “They had so many braids and ribbons and bows…”

“Ye do it well… though ye may need a bit more practice when it comes to yer own hair,” he remarked, watching the strands of her own long hair continue to come loose from its bow. She brushed them out of her way so they wouldn’t become tangled with the horse’s hair in her hands. 

“That’s cause Mama was hurrying this morning,” Brianna explained with a shrug. 

“Why do ye no do it for yerself?” 

“I like it better when Mama does it––she isn’t usually so busy.” 

There was a bitter edge to her words that left Jamie with the distinct impression that though Claire was the one who was busy, Brianna blamed him for it. 

“Come here,” he told her with a gentle frown.

She looked around for reassurance but Claire wasn’t there; she and Jamie were on their own––no one to talk through or cling to or hide behind; just the pair of them. 

He waited for her to come to him and a moment later she did holding out the brush for him to take back. He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and turned her around.

“What are you doing?”

“Ye have to ask?” He pulled the tie free from her hand and gave it a quick brush with his fingers before plaiting it tightly for her and retying it. She turned back to face him when he’d finished, examining the result. It wasn’t as neat as he would have liked but without a proper brush or comb, it would do. 

“How do you know how to do that?” Brianna couldn’t hide the admiration that accompanied the disbelief in her voice.

Jamie laughed. “Of course, I ken how to make a plait.” He reached back and touched his own shorter and clubbed plait. “Did ye think Mrs. Graham did this for me?”

Brianna couldn’t help laughing at the image. “No! Why is your hair long anyway?”

Jamie shrugged. “I’ve nearly always kept it so––was the way men’s hair was where I was from.”

Brianna frowned. “I know I haven’t lived in Scotland long, but I haven’t seen any of the boys with hair like that. It’s… not so bad like you have it now,” she decided, evaluating his hair with an intent gaze, “but if you’re not careful people will think you’re a delinquent.” 

“A delinquent?” Jamie shook his head in amazement. “And where did ye hear a thing like that?”

Brianna’s jaw stiffened. “It’s what the professors where Daddy works call their students who don’t take matters seriously enough. They don’t take care of themselves; they don’t keep their hair trimmed enough or keep their clothes tidy. It’s things like that that show they don’t have the proper respect,” she recited with great authority.

Nodding, Jamie reached back to touch his hair. “Is that what ye think? I dinna have the proper respect for yer mam?” 

Brianna softened a little. “Like I said, yours is tidy enough right now and your clothes aren’t really tidy but that’s just because you work outside with horses; it’s not like you work in an office or a school or something.”

“I did have shorter hair a while back––come to think of it, the shortest I’ve ever had it was when I first met yer mam.”

“But you didn’t keep it short…”

“It had a bad blow to the head and the… those that were treatin’ me cut my hair verra close to be able to tend the wound. Ye can feel it right here,” he told her as he ran his fingers along the slight groove on his scalp where the axe had struck. 

“Was Mama the one who treated you?”

“Not for that but a great deal else. The first thing she did when I met her was put my arm right,” he began, launching into the tale he spent many nights dreaming he’d be able to share with his and Claire’s child. “And the second thing she did was scold me and call me a fool for letting myself get hurt in the first place.”

* * *

Claire shuffled into the room and closed the door behind her with a sigh. Slipping off her shoes she set her purse aside and began changing out of her formal skirt and blouse and into a more comfortable sweater and trousers. In the few days since arriving in Scotland she had been to see seven flats and one house for rent, she’d had three interviews at hospitals and two at private practices and she felt the only thing she had settled on was the car she’d decided to rent after her first day. 

She crossed to the desk by the window where Brianna had left some crayons and a coloring book out from the night before. Beside them was a half-eaten box of animal biscuits, the sight of which was making her stomach rumble. 

Snagging a tiger and an elephant, Claire also took the blue crayon and one of Brianna’s extra pieces of paper. 

She soon had everything listed out in sets of pros and cons. Two of the hospital positions had offered her three year contracts, but after so long pushing for the hospital in Boston to give her a solid contract like that, she wasn’t sure it was best for her current situation in Inverness. Until things were settled with the divorce––which would likely take several months––she didn’t want to commit to anything more than a year. It would take a little while to save the money but she desperately wanted to buy Lallybroch back with Jamie, to help ground him. But if they did move to Lallybroch, she wouldn’t be able to commute all the way to the hospital in Inverness––not easily, anyway. And she had to admit that, though there would be far fewer opportunities to use her surgical skills, private practice did have some definite benefits as far as scheduling and autonomy were concerned.

Turning to the list of flats she’d seen, she was able to cross a few off the list quickly––too impractically situated for any of the jobs she might take. Two had decent rental rates but not as much space as she might like––especially if Jamie were to stay at any point; the nicest was also the most expensive, as was to be expected––not practical if she hoped to save enough for the pair of them to buy back Lallybroch…

There was a knock on the door, surprising Claire. It was still too early for Jamie to be bringing Brianna home.

Mrs. Baird was on the other side of the door, having escorted Reverend Wakefield up.

“I’ll pop down to the kitchen and fix something up for the pair of ye,” Mrs. Baird promised with an earnest smile. 

“Reverend,” Claire addressed him with an awkward nod before stepping aside and beckoning for him to enter.

“I ken ye’ll be wondering why I’ve come,” he began, beating around the bush. “I dinna pretend to know what’s gone on between you and Frank… but he is a friend––an old one and a dear one––and so I guess I just wanted to see how ye’re faring––you and yer lass.”

Claire bit her tongue. It was too soon for word from Frank to have reached Reverend Wakefield directly so he had probably heard about her situation from Mrs. Graham or her daughter. 

“Well… we’re… settling––or trying to, at least,” Claire confessed. “I’ve had luck with finding a position but haven’t decided yet on which one––and there’s the question of a flat.” She gestured to her lists.

“Oh, uh… perhaps I can help,” he offered, reaching for her list and squinting at it. “This one here,” he pointed, “is near the school.”

“Thank you,” Claire said making note of that on her list. 

The Reverend Wakefield nodded with satisfaction before slipping into an awkward posture and silence. 

“I take it Mrs. Graham…”

“Aye,” he nodded again. “Aye she told me that ye had… She thought it better than if I came across ye in the street by chance or heard about it elsewhere.”

“I suppose you’ll be hearing about it more directly from Frank soon enough.”

“I understand yer desire to take up again with this man who meant so much to ye––and I ken he’s yer lass’ father by blood,” the Reverend said with obvious awareness of how close he was to the line of propriety and interference. “And this is no a sermon, I promise ye that. I’ll leave Frank to make any arguments he might on the situation… But I will ask ye to be sensitive to the bond between yer husband and yer daughter. I ken how he feels about her and I canna feel it is right for her to be taken from him entirely––nor her from him.”

Claire crossed her arms over her chest and took a deep breath reminding herself that Reverend Wakefield meant well. “I have no desire to hurt Brianna any more than is unavoidable under the circumstances… and would greatly appreciate it if you would make sure  _ Frank _ knows that as well. As far as I am concerned, his… access to Brianna will be entirely dependent upon him.”

The Reverend Wakefield was saved from having to respond to the edge in Claire’s voice by the reappearance of Mrs. Baird with a tray. 

“I do apologize for coming like this,” he said as Claire ushered him to sit and share a cup of tea. “I don’t mean to preach… I merely thought I might act as an… intermediary, should the need arise.”

“Of course.” 

“Where is the lass?” It seemed to finally occur to him that Claire was alone in the rooms. 

“Jamie has her. He works with the horses over at MacDonald’s. Bree’s taken a fancy to them herself.” 

Reverend Wakefield nodded with approval. “MacDonald’s a good man––firm but fair employer, so far as I’ve heard. His wife has a recipe for mincemeat pie that Mrs. Graham has been after for twenty-five years, at least.”

“Jamie speaks well of him.”

“Mama! Mama!” Brianna’s excited voice bounded up the stairs and into the hall just a few seconds before her footsteps. 

Brianna burst through the door, her face red from the run and strands of her hair flying loose about her face having come free of her braid. She either didn’t notice Reverend Wakefield in the room or didn’t find his presence to be a hindrance to her news.

“I got to brush and braid Thistle’s mane today,” she exclaimed breathlessly, brushing her hair out of her face. “And then, Mac showed me how to muck out the stalls and had me do some of it, and then we took a break for lunch and he told me stories and then after lunch you’ll never guess where we went.” 

Claire gladly reflected her daughter’s smile back at her, raising her hand to grab the end of Brianna’s braid. “Did you do this yourself?” she asked impressed.

Brianna shook her head and broke her mother’s hold of her hair, flipping the braid over her shoulder and out of the way. “Mac did it,” she said quickly. “But you’re supposed to be guessing.”

“Did ye go to the shop in town? Ye’re bounding a bit as though ye’ve had sugar,” Reverend Wakefield teased with a smile.

Brianna smiled at him but shook her head.

“The post office then,” he guessed again. 

Her smile grew.

“Where’s Mac?” Claire asked, looking past Brianna’s shoulder to the hallway where she could make out Jamie’s figure coming slowly towards the room.

“Don’t look yet!” Brianna exclaimed sticking her hands in Claire’s face in an attempt to cover her eyes. 

Claire obliged her and covered her own eyes with a chuckle. 

She could hear a shuffling of feet as Brianna positioned everyone in the room where she wanted them. There were a few awkward half-acknowledgments from Jamie and Reverend Wakefield but it was easier for all of them to let Brianna be in charge of the moment. 

“Okay,” Brianna finally announced. “Now you can look.”

Claire dropped her hands and, with a brief smile at Brianna, turned her attention to scrutinizing Jamie. It only took a moment for her to gasp and send Brianna into a fit of satisfied giggling. 

“Your hair,” Claire breathed as Jamie brought his hand self-consciously to his shorn locks. 

“The barber,” Reverend Wakefield addressed Brianna with a nod. “Ye’re right––I wouldna ha’ guessed ye’d been there.”

“The lass thought it would help me to fit in better,” Jamie explained, flushing under Claire’s gaze. “It’s strange to be rid of it after so long.”

Claire smiled as she crossed to him and reached up to feel it for herself. It was still long enough for the ends to betray the suggestion of a curl, still long enough for her to run her fingers through it. 

“Ye dinna mind?” he asked her quietly. 

She shook her head and let her fingers wander from the ticklish place just behind his ear to the back of his head. It didn’t take long for her to find the scar on the back of his skull. He straightened self-consciously when she did but she continued tracing it lightly. 

“Reverend Wakefield and I were just having a bit of tea,” she told Jamie, letting her fingers drop to the nape of his neck and taking a step back to carry out the introductions that Brianna’s antics earlier had prevented. “I think you should join us.”

Jamie’s brow furrowed at her and she tilted her head slightly in response. 

“Aye… so long as I’m no intruding,” he agreed. 

“Not at all,” she insisted then turned to Brianna. “Bree, can you go let Mrs. Baird know we’ll need another setting? She might also have a treat ready for  _ you _ if you ask her politely.”

Happy to be rid of the boring adults and thrilled to be entrusted with such responsibility, Brianna hurried out of the room and back down the stairs in search of Mrs. Baird. 

“Reverend Wakefield, allow me to introduce Jamie Fraser––Jamie, Reverend Wakefield,” Claire motioned from one to the other as the men nodded politely before Reverend Wakefield resumed his seat at the small table and Jamie perched himself on the foot of the nearby bed. “Reverend Wakefield is an old friend of Frank’s. He’s helped him conduct his research on a number of occasions.”

“I remember ye tellin’ me a wee bit about him back… well,  _ before _ ,” Jamie said politely. “And of course, Mrs. Graham canna sing yer praises highly enough, sir.”

Reverend Wakefield’s expression softened. “Moira. Her daughter-in-law does a fine job about the manse now, mind, but it willna feel quite right since Moira Graham decided to leave me. She had a different way of putterin’ about the place and Roger adored her stories when he was a wee lad. Always had the knack for makin’ him mind.”

“Has Roger gone up to university yet?” Claire inquired. “Still interested in pursuing a degree in history?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Reverend Wakefield responded, launching into a recitation of Roger’s recent move to a flat near his campus; classes had yet to start but Roger had already met a number of his fellow students. 

Mrs. Baird soon returned with an additional setting for Jamie and further food and drink, Brianna just a few steps behind her with a small tray of her own. 

“I can fix a full meal for the group of ye, if ye like,” Mrs. Baird offered but Claire wasn’t about to disrupt the fragile balance they’d managed to strike. 

“I wouldn’t dream of putting you out like that without warning,” she insisted, “but thank you for the offer.” 

“I suppose I ought to be going, anyhow,” Reverend Wakefield said rising. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Claire, and meeting you, Mr. Fraser.” He held out a hand and Jamie accepted it with a warm shake. “Miss Brianna…” he turned to the girl who had set her tray down carefully and was busy loading a small plate with snacks. “I’m glad to hear ye had such an adventurous day and I hope to see ye again soon.”

“Of course,” Claire said politely but with hesitation as well. She’d feel more comfortable seeing Reverend Wakefield again after her lawyers had heard from Frank’s lawyers and she had a better grasp of how long the process would take to finalize. While she doubted Reverend Wakefield would willfully play the spy, she wasn’t so sure Frank was above asking it of him. 

With a final nod, Reverend Wakefield departed. Claire turned to find Brianna with a mouth full of biscuits, crumbs clinging to her lips and chin and dusting the front of her shirt.

“Napkin,” she instructed firmly. Brianna’s hand darted to the tray to retrieve one that she used ceremonial and ineffectively dab at the corners of her mouth. 

Jamie chuckled and Brianna smiled allowing further crumbs to escape. Claire rolled her eyes but smiled herself as she turned to Jamie. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his shorn head again.

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” she told him. “What in heaven’s name made you decide to cut your hair?”

“It was Brianna suggested it,” he said with a smile and nod of satisfaction in her direction. She went back to her snack and he lowered his voice. “She seemed to find it strange to wear it long and I’m afraid she was right. As ye say, it will take getting used to, but I already dinna feel so watched as I did before. I thought it was something of my time I was showing and I suppose that was somewhat true.” He kept rubbing the back of his head where his plait had shielded his nape. 

“And do you like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s no as though it willna grow back. And ye should ha’ seen her face when the man saw us walk through the door to his shop,” he chuckled reaching past her to take one of the biscuits. 

“She was amused,” Claire guessed. 

“She looked like  _ you _ ,” he told her grinning and wiping at crumbs of his own. “The way ye get when ye’re right but no one listened to ye and ye dinna want to say it so ye just…” and he did his best to imitate the expression, a cross between exasperation and triumph. He couldn’t quite keep his lips from turning up into a smile, however, and Claire giggled at his results. 

“How were your appointments?” Brianna interrupted them. She had finished her biscuits and was using her finger to poke the crumbs on her plate into a pile. “Do you have a job yet?”

“I have a few offers and I looked at some flats. I didn’t want to decide on either without discussing it first,” she told them, rising to retrieve her list.

When she sat down again Brianna and Jamie each peeked over an arm to look at it, though it made sense to neither of them, albeit for different reasons. 

“Did you steal my crayons?” Brianna asked with a frown. 

“Is that why it’s blue?” 

“I didn’t steal it; I borrowed it––and it was just one crayon. Anyhow, the point is I have the options narrowed down a bit but the job will depend in part on the flat and I want second opinions before settling on a place for sure. Bree, do you mind coming with me to look tomorrow? It will be a little boring but it’s important.”

“But we were going to try putting the blankets on Thistle,” Brianna whined. 

Claire looked to Jamie.

“Ye put a blanket on and walk the filly around a bit then gradually put more and more on––to get her used to havin’ a weight on her back like that so she’ll take the saddle and later still the rider,” he obliged. 

Claire turned to Brianna with her eyebrows raised. “And that  _ doesn’t _ sound boring to you?” 

Brianna rolled her eyes at the teasing. 

“I can put it off a day or two,” Jamie offered. “Wouldna want ye to miss it but ye need to do as yer mam says. Do ye no want a room of yer own again?”

Brianna slumped in her chair and sighed melodramatically. “I liked the room I had just fine,” she muttered. 

“I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘thank you, Mac. That’s incredibly kind of you,’” Claire scolded her daughter. 

“Thank you, Mac,” Brianna repeated in a hollow tone of voice. “That’s incredibly kind of you. Can I go watch television now?”

“Fine,” Claire assented and Brianna crossed to the other side of the room to turn on and click through the channels to see if there was anything on that she might recognize.

“I’m sorry,” Claire began to apologize.

“Don’t be. Taking a step or two back from time to time is part of the process,” he said with resignation. 

“Two steps forward, one step back.”


	21. Thoughts of Lallybroch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie helps Claire move into the apartment she chose but as a future with Claire and Brianna becomes more tangible, Jamie finds his thoughts drifting to what it has cost him.

By the end of the week Claire had made her decisions regarding both the job and the flat. There wouldn’t be more than a day between moving in and Claire’s first day at the hospital, then just a week after that Brianna would begin school. Claire looked forward to establishing a routine again, convinced that would help Brianna the most.

Rather than have Brianna getting bored at the shops as Claire picked out some necessary furnishings and then underfoot during the trips back and forth to Mrs. Graham’s for the boxes she had shipped, Mrs. Graham offered to watch Brianna. 

“Fiona is coming to stay for a few days while my son and his wife go out of town for a wedding,” she explained when Claire hesitated. “If ye loan me yer lass for a spell I’ll get a rest.”

Brianna had enthusiastically supported the idea––Fiona remained the only person her own age that she had met in Inverness and she was beginning to grow nervous about the start of school. 

Claire wouldn’t be running her errands alone, though. Jamie had asked MacDonald for the day off to help Claire, trading the basic details of his and Claire’s relationship for the time off… or at least, the version of the truth they had agreed upon––that he and Claire had reconnected when her marriage fell apart and were planning to marry after her divorce, having once had a love affair of their own and found it quickly rekindled. It was likely some in Inverness would remember Claire’s mysterious disappearance and reappearance from years before, but it was far enough in the past that they hoped the details would remain confused. 

“We don’t have to stay here forever,” Claire reminded Jamie when he grumbled about MacDonald’s inquisitiveness. “As soon as the telephone is up and running I’m going to call my attorneys in Edinburgh to see if they’ve heard from Frank. It’s been long enough now for him to have hired someone––hopefully someone who can keep him reasonable. What do you think of these ones?” She indicated a pair of stately chairs with dark but sturdy upholstery. 

“They willna both fit in yer room––no well, at least. Do ye really need two?”

“One’s for you. I thought they looked a bit like the one in the Laird’s room at Lallybroch.”

A sad smile bloomed on his face. “Aye, that they do.” He pressed his hand down on the seat, gauging it’s sturdiness. “Bit firmer.”

“Springs.”

“Still dinna have the room for two in yer wee rooms now.”

“They’re not  _ that _ small,” Claire insisted, moving deeper into the shop to a table and chairs that were hideous but cheap and functional. She and Brianna could probably make do with the countertops and a coffee table for now; once she’d had a few paychecks from the hospital and had money that was indisputably her own, she could afford to come back for the pieces she truly wanted––furniture that would stay with them when the time came to move on to something bigger. “There’s enough room for you when Brianna comes around a bit more––though we’ll need something larger eventually.”

Jamie knocked into one of the coffee tables as he moved to keep up with Claire.

“Ye want me to… But we can’t,” he objected. “No till yer––no until Frank has signed what it is ye need him to and everything is properly settled. No till we can be properly wed… again. It wouldna be seemly.”

Claire frowned at him as she came upon a faded burgundy loveseat. She ran her hand along the back and down one of the arms. It was worn but softer for it. 

“And what if Frank proves disagreeable and drags it all out?” She moved to sit and leaned into the supple material and cushioning. “Don’t you think we’ve waited enough?”

There wasn’t much Jamie could do to argue with her. He constantly felt guilty for imposing on Mrs. Graham’s hospitality even though he had started paying her a modest sum of rent for more than a month now. The thought of sharing a home with Claire again––a home, a room, a _ bed _ ––brought his breath up short and made him warm with desire for her. 

“I told ye I’d wait two hundred years for ye, Sassenach. I can wait a while longer if I need to,” he assured her. 

She decided not to keep pushing. It would be better to wait and see how Brianna settled in once school began and to figure out what page Frank was on before provoking any sort of fight with Jamie. 

“Do you like this?” she asked him of the loveseat. “Here,” she shifted so he could sit beside her. 

He descended gingerly, afraid his weight might prove too much for the upholstery. But nothing tore or creaked; he let his head loll and discovered the back of the loveseat came just high enough to cradle his head comfortably. He sighed with contentment.

“That’s what I needed to hear,” Claire remarked with a smile as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Do you think the two of us can carry this or should I see if they’ll deliver it?”

The store delivered but it was up to Jamie and Claire to arrange the handful of purchases she made within the new apartment once they had brought the furniture inside––a task that proved to be sweaty work. 

“Christ,” Jamie grunted as he strained to lift the large, round wooden table the few inches Claire wanted it shifted so the chairs would fit comfortably around it. “I never kent pine to be so heavy.”

“When it’s a piece that big it is,” she assured him as he set it down before resuming her position at the other end of the room and squinting. “That’ll do.”

“Aye, it’ll do. I’m no movin’ it again,” he declared, sitting in one of the chairs and wiping a forearm across his forehead. 

“I can give Mrs. Graham a call,” she offered, coming up behind him and running her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. He rolled his head around under her touch, still unused to the feel of having it so short. “I can see if it’s all right for Bree to spend the night with Fiona and then you can stay here. The electricity won’t get turned on until tomorrow so there isn’t much for Bree to do to keep herself busy… but I seem to remember you and I finding  _ plenty _ to occupy ourselves in similar situations,” she teased. 

Jamie chuckled but seemed preoccupied. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked moving to take the seat opposite him at the table. 

He shook his head but then shifted to lean one arm against the table. “It’s… what ye said earlier about no stayin’ in the flat here forever. I ken we’ve talked of savin’ to buy Lallybroch back but… thinking of Lallybroch…”

“Jenny and Ian,” Claire guessed when he trailed off somberly. “We… we can look for them if you want,” she offered. “There might be some record of what happened to them. If we start by tracing Lallybroch’s ownership back––”

He shook his head with more conviction. “I dinna want to know that––not exactly. It helps to think of them still there where I left them, just on the other side of the stones carryin’ on wi’ the business of the place… But I hadna seen them in some years and I didna ken I’d be leaving for good like that… What do ye suppose they think happened to me? Would the English even bother to tell them?” 

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I guess it would depend on what they decided happened to you. They might spread word that you’d escaped.”

He frowned. “I suppose that would be best; it’s no so hopeless as bein’ dead would be.”

“If you ever change your mind and want to look, just say so. I asked one of the clerks at the realtor that’s managing the Lallybroch property to contact me if anything changes––if someone else shows an interest in buying it. We can scramble something together and make an offer even if we’re not in as strong a position financially as we might hope.”

Jamie rose. He was ready to move on from feeling sorry for himself. There were plenty of boxes to retrieve and unpack; it would take several trips back and forth from Mrs. Graham’s house to get them all. 

“Lallybroch had better be the next and  _ last _ place ye live, Sassenach. I dinna plan to move you and this lot more than once more,” he told her tapping the tabletop lightly with his fingertips. 

* * *

The first round of boxes they brought back contained some kitchen things and Claire’s books––mostly her thick medical texts. A second round included Claire’s clothes and the bathroom and bedroom linens. After another two trips all that remained to retrieve were Brianna’s things along with Brianna herself.

“I think it will help if I get most of this unpacked and settled before she gets here,” Claire said as she began laying silverware in the top drawer next to the kitchen sink. Jamie carefully lifted the plates out of their protective wrappings so Claire could give them a quick rinse before Jamie set them on one of the cabinet shelves. 

“I thought ye said ye didna have much from… from yer marriage wi’ Frank,” he remarked as he ran a finger over the delicate floral pattern along the outer edge of a plate.

“They’re not from Frank,” Claire explained. “They were in with my uncle’s things after he died. I think they belonged to my parents but I’m not entirely sure. Frank and I bought our things together––well, we went shopping together but didn’t put much thought into what we were buying; just something respectable and functional. Do you like them?”

“Aye,” he said with a weak smile then set them aside and wandered over to peek into another box. He lifted out Claire’s aging plant press and set it on the counter along with a few small books on herbs and their uses. 

He looked around the apartment to see all the marks Claire had already left on the place: a worn blanket draped across the back of the “new” loveseat; some photos of herself and Brianna (with the photo of the three of them at Mrs. Graham’s house––faces smeared with chocolate from the fresh-baked cookies––in a sturdy new frame and given a prominent placement); her books on the lone bookcase. There were spaces set aside for Brianna’s things and he knew Claire had left spaces for him to lay claim to as well––she wanted him to know that though it would be some time yet before Brianna was ready for him to live with them, she already viewed it all as his too.

But what would he bring with him when he did join them here? He’d come from his time with naught but the scars on his back. Even Lallybroch would have to be  _ bought _ to make it theirs again. 

Thoughts of Lallybroch brought his earlier melancholy back in a rush that threatened to knock him off his feet. He had focused on finding Claire and Brianna, on reaching out and reuniting his immediate family, he had been able to avoid thinking of who and what he’d left behind––Jenny, Ian, their children, Lallybroch’s tenants… the only people he knew who still remembered his parents, his brother, who knew what  _ he’d _ been like as a lad. 

He felt like he was disintegrating, like he was being torn apart by the stones all over again. 

“Are you all right, Jamie?” Claire asked. 

Her hand caressed his cheek and the disintegrating sensation became something else. Her concern was obvious in the way she tilted her head and the small furrow between her eyebrows.

He bent his head and kissed her, chasing the new sensation that was more reassuring than disintegrating. 

“Oh,” Claire murmured as he pulled away a moment later. She took him by the hand and pulled him with her the few steps back until the counter pressed to the small of her back and his hips came flush against hers. 

“I… I need ye.” His statement was quiet and apologetic but Claire adopted a warm and playful smile. 

“Good,” she teased before rising on her toes to kiss him again. 

It occurred to him briefly before rational thought left him, that she understood better than anyone the disorientation he was feeling; had it been this bad for her all those years ago now when they first met? Had she been able to find similar comfort in him even before he knew the truth about her?

It was desperate and rough, the way he gripped her hips and turned her around. She had her trousers down and pooling around her knees a moment before he succeeded with his. He entered her with enough force to raise her to her toes again as her fingers clung to the smooth surface of the counter, the edge promising to leave her with bruises where it pressed into her flesh. 

He didn’t want to hurt her––and judging from the way she was panting and moaning, she wasn’t hurting in the least––but riding her hard was the fastest way to reach that point of dissolution into her, that place where he ceased to be aware of himself and everything brought him to an awareness of their shared being. It grounded him–– _ she _ grounded him––kept everything else at bay… or perhaps it was just the means by which he was able to borrow strength from her to face an unexpected and unfamiliar grief…

He didn’t like to use her like this. Despite her rationalizations, she was still legally married to Frank. Thinking about it usually left him conflicted but as she enveloped him and encouraged him, the familiar senses of guilt and shame never materialized. She was  _ his _ wife–– _ they _ were one flesh, blessed by whatever power had brought them together not once but twice, breaking the rules of time to do so. It didn’t matter if it was legal in this time yet.

With Claire, he was home. 


	22. Something Else to Call Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna has started at her new school and Jamie is picking her up at the end of the day now that Claire is working at the hospital.

Jamie had been over it with Claire  _ and _ with Brianna several times in the last few days but he was still incredibly nervous to be standing outside her school waiting to walk with her back to MacDonald’s until Claire got off work. The hospital had allowed her to have a flexible shift schedule for the first week and a half while she and Brianna adjusted to their new living arrangements and Brianna’s new school schedule but that was over; they would keep her from being on call the mandatory two weekends a month for the next two months while she figured out arrangements for Brianna under those circumstances. 

The parents gathered on the sidewalk outside the school were mostly women––mothers and a few grandmothers sprinkled in the mix. He spotted Mrs. Graham and sighed with relief before making his way over to stand with her. Most of the women around him were polite enough not to stare outright but they did bend toward one another to make comments about him after he’d passed; they all knew something was going on between Mrs. Graham’s boarder and the recently arrived Sassenach with her American daughter but the details eluded them. 

“There ye are, Jamie,” Mrs. Graham greeted him warmly. “How’re ye holdin’ up wi’out Claire here today?”

“I’ve learnt my way about town enough no to get lost. Bree and I will take the bus but I still dinna trust it so well as my own two feet,” he confessed. How much longer would it be before the doors opened and the bairns were set loose? He was itching to be away from the crowd and back at the farm. His confidence in twentieth century life was growing but he still shied away from situations where he might draw attention to himself and being the only man waiting to escort his child home from school certainly counted.

“Ye didna walk the whole way, surely,” Mrs. Graham declared with amusement. “It must be three miles. Can Ewan spare ye so long?”

“Claire doesna get back until near six so I can make the time up on the other end and wi’ Bree there to help, some of the doing gets done faster.”

Mrs. Graham didn’t look entirely appeased but the high-pitched cries of the first children through the school’s doors pulled at everyone’s attention.

Brianna was relieved that after a week and a half most of her fellow students had stopped openly gawking at her whenever she spoke; a few still asked her questions about “the American way” of doing or saying something but for the most part she seemed to have been accepted by her peers. The fact that her mother and Daddy were getting a divorce had been wrapped up into her American-ness and the novelty of it was beginning to fade for them. She became just another student in the classroom or the schoolyard. 

But there were moments when her situation became more difficult for  _ her _ to ignore and she was sure that, from now on, the end of the day was going to be one of them. School was all right and being at the barn with Mac and the horses was fine––exciting even, given the progress they were making with Thistle––but crossing the schoolyard and  _ getting _ to the farm were going to be awkward.

“Is that yer father?” Iona Lindsay asked Brianna. 

Iona sat next to her in class. She reminded Brianna of Annette Soranson except Annette had dark hair and no freckles but Iona was strawberry blonde and had freckles all across her nose. Iona’s accent was different too but the other girl proved just as fascinated by Brianna’s accent as Brianna was by hers. They’d been paired up on a reading assignment in class and had gotten distracted as they took turns egging each other on to pronounce increasingly funny and absurd (to them) words, laughing so much they attracted their teacher’s attention and ridicule. 

“Is he the one yer mam is divorcing?” Iona pressed.

“No, Daddy’s back in Boston. That’s Mac. He’s… the other one, I guess.” Brianna felt a blush rising in her cheeks and took a few deep breaths in the hopes it would calm her down and the blush would go away.

“He’ll be yer stepfather then?” Iona glanced between Brianna and Jamie who was standing next to Mrs. Graham and had just spotted her.

“I’m not sure what he’ll be exactly. Mama says he was supposed to be my dad all along so I don’t know what that makes him if he and Mama get married.” Brianna tried to say it all in an off-hand way, even managing a shrug when Iona turned to look at her with sympathy. She didn’t want anyone to think she cared too much one way or another. She didn’t want pity or ridicule when it came to the subject of her home life; she just wanted to feel normal, which was much harder to feel here in Scotland than it had been in Boston. 

“Ye think yer mam will marry him then?”

“Ah-huh,” she nodded. “I know she wants him to live with us. She only has half her closet and dresser full so he can have the rest when he does.” 

Iona saw her new friend’s wariness at the idea and suggested, “Maybe it’s for yer daddy; maybe she’s just testing him wi’ this divorce talk and really just wants to see will he fight to win her back. Tha’s what ye see in the movies sometimes––the man has to prove to the lady tha’ he loves her by followin’ her when she leaves and apologizing for all he’s done tha’ upset her. Then she takes him back and he doesna do the things she didna approve of anymore and they’re happier.”

Brianna wanted to laugh in Iona’s face––that was the  _ last  _ thing her mother would try to get Daddy’s attention––but the girl was trying to be nice, trying to cheer her up and Brianna was still too desperate for friends to even joke about something like that. 

“It would be nice but I really don’t think so,” she settled for instead.

“Aye, well. Ye could do worse for a step-father,” Iona said, searching for a new tack to take in her attempt to steer Brianna towards a silver-lining. “At least he looks like ye––ye’ll no get sae many odd looks when ye’re out wi’ him.” Spotting her own waiting mother, Iona hurried off calling back to Brianna over her shoulder, “See ye tomorrow!”

Brianna forced a smile to her lips until Iona’s head was turned away from her again then started walking slowly towards Jamie. 

“Seems ye’ve made a friend,” he remarked as they fell into step walking away from the dispersing group of women and children. “What’s the lass’ name?”

“Iona,” Brianna answered shortly. She thought back on the conversation she’d had with Iona and all the conversations she’d had with her classmates on the subject of her family. She knew the questions weren’t going to go away, in fact, with Jamie picking her up on a regular basis they were probably only going to grow as more kids in her class noticed. Did she really want to go through the long explanation every time? And according to her mother, he  _ was _ her father––one of them anyway––and none of the kids at school were ever likely to meet Daddy… 

She wondered again what Daddy might be doing at that moment. She hadn’t been the only student at her private school whose father taught at the university and her parents had arranged for a few of the other students’ mothers to take it in turns to drive Brianna from school to the university so Frank could watch her during his office hours before heading home at the end of the day. They’d had their own little rituals for those three and a half hours every day; a snack and cup of tea at the cafe where the other kids’ moms dropped her off and he met her then they’d head back to his office where she had her own little table arranged in the corner so she could do her homework while he corrected papers or worked on his research. His students had all come to know her by name and some of the ones who took Daddy’s classes more than one semester would remark on how much she had grown since they’d last seen her, would ask her questions about what  _ she _ was studying and she would listen in on their discussions with her father, learning the finer points of academic discourse along with a bit of the history curriculum he taught. 

“What’re ye thinkin’ so hard on?” Jamie asked Brianna as they stood at the corner waiting for their bus. She hadn’t been this quiet the last few days of picking her up but then Claire had been with them for Brianna to tell a few details about her day. This afternoon, Brianna walked paying little mind to where she walked (having carefully avoided stepping directly on any cracks in the previous days) and there was a furrow to her brow that indicated deep thought. Seeing it made Jamie both smile and worry; Claire tended to bear the same furrow but it was only when something weighed heavy on her mind. 

“I need something better to call you,” Brianna declared. “I can’t keep calling you ‘Mac’ cause none of the other kids understands what that means.”

“Oh.” Jamie was taken aback. “And did ye have anythin’ in mind?”

“Well, Mama says you’re one of my dads but I can’t call you Daddy because Daddy’s Daddy.” 

“Sound logic,” he remarked staring up the street to see if he could spot the bus. He wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation but it had his heart pounding anxiously and his palms felt a bit damp. 

“Calling you ‘father’ just doesn’t feel right and you’re not really my step-father either.”

“Is there something yer new friends call their fathers other than ‘Daddy’? Since ye’ve ruled that one out,” he inquired. 

Brianna’s brow furrowed again but the weight behind it didn’t appear as heavy as it had earlier. 

“I’ll have to ask Iona tomorrow,” she decided as the bus pulled up in front of them. 

“You do that,” Jamie agreed, sighing with relief that that particular conversation had ended just there.

* * *

 

Brianna sat on a hay bale with her textbook open in her lap and a notebook open on top of that. Jamie was busy bringing the horses in for the night, brushing them down, and mixing up their dinners before putting them into their stalls. 

“What’s it ye’re workin’ on?” he asked from the stall where he was patting dust from Sage’s back. 

Brianna sighed but welcomed the distraction. “History.”

“I thought ye liked history?”

“Yeah… but it’s not history I’m familiar with so I’m behind where all the other kids are. We didn’t learn about British history in Boston…” she frowned before adding, “except for the Revolutionary War.”

“Yer mam’s English,” Jamie noted, while leaving out the fact that Frank was too. “I’d have thought a wee bit would work its way into that head of yers simply from being around it.”

“I know about the Jacobites, the ‘15 and the ‘45,” Brianna admitted freely––Jamie’s hand slowed as it made a pass of Sage’s back––“but I don’t know about the line of British succession or how the government is organized or what countries constitute the Empire or used to be part of the Empire or just fought with the Empire,” she ranted and stabbed the tip of her pencil at the corner of the paper until she used enough force to put a hole in the paper and broke the point of the pencil. 

“So… tell me what ye do know,” Jamie suggested.

“I just told you––I don’t know  _ anything _ ,” she protested.

“No about British history; about yer American history––that Revolutionary War ye mentioned.”

Brianna frowned but complied. 

“The war started in Massachusetts with the Battle of Lexington and Concord––the ‘shot heard round the world’ but the trouble started earlier than that. The British––King George the third, that’s one I know––he and his government wanted to put extra taxes on the American Colonies but the taxes weren’t fair so in Boston they protested by dumping tea in the harbor. That made the British mad and they sent soldiers to keep an eye on things and the colonists didn’t want to have to have the soldiers in their houses and stuff so they protested some more. There was the Boston Massacre which made some of the colonists like Sam Adams form the Sons of Liberty and eventually there were others who got together and Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence and  _ then _ more soldiers came and Paul Revere rode through the towns to raise the militia and that’s when Lexington and Concord happened,” Brianna said in one long stream before pausing to see if Jamie wanted her to keep going.

She saw that he was smiling. 

“See, now listen to that,” he said, apparently addressing the horse. “Ye ken more than ye think.”

“But that’s  _ American _ history; I need to know about  _ British  _ history.”

“Aye, but how many of yer new classmates ken what ye just told me, hmm?”

She shrugged. 

“And were ye born knowin’ all that or did ye learn it?”

Brianna couldn’t help the smile that crept to her lips even as she rolled her eyes. “I learned it.”

“So ye can learn what it is ye’re behind on as well, I reckon, and when ye have, ye’ll ken  _ twice _ what yer classmates ken as ye’ll still have yer  _ American _ history knockin’ round yer head as well.”

“But I have my first test in two weeks on chapters seven and eight; everyone else knows the stuff in chapters one through six already.” She wasn’t ready to relinquish her hold on an insurmountable problem, an injustice that stemmed from having moved somewhere she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. 

“Start wi’ chapter one then and read it to me,” he requested. 

“But you’ll already know it all too,” she protested. 

Jamie kept his attention on holding Sage’s head steady while he combed the horse’s mane. Despite his extensive reading since his arrival in the twentieth century, Jamie knew he had barely scratched the surface of what there was for him to learn; he only hoped that he would be able to help Brianna without her realizing just how ignorant he truly was. 

“Doesna matter what I may or may no know,” he insisted. “It’s the tellin’ of it that helps it stick; having questions asked of ye and needin’ to think on it yerself that will help ye put it straight in yer mind.”

Brianna took a deep breath and set her notebook aside going back to the page marked, ‘Chapter One.’

“‘Before one can learn the history of a place or its people, one must first become familiar with the geography of that place. In this first chapter, we will explore the various nations and regions that comprise…”

* * *

 

“How was school? Did you get all your assignments done? Are there any you need help with?” Claire asked Brianna as they prepared for dinner a few nights later. Jamie was washing up in the bathroom, Brianna having asked her mother if he could join them upon arriving home. Jamie had been wearing a broad smile but didn’t say anything to Claire in front of Brianna. 

“Better. I’m catching up on the subjects I was behind on,” Brianna explained. 

“You were behind?” Claire asked confused.

Brianna shrugged as she set the table. “Only in history really. But Da’s helping me catch up. And I’m still getting used to some of the everyday things that are different here––like money. It just takes a little longer for me to figure out what something means cause it’s not what I’m used to.”

Jamie walked into the room to see Claire staring at him with raised eyebrows. He flushed before taking his seat at the table and changed the subject to the progress with Thistle at the stables––a subject both he and Brianna were more eager to discuss. 

“Soon she’ll be settled enough to sit a rider on the saddle and I’m the smallest so he said I could be her first official rider.” Brianna’s excitement was as tangible as Claire’s wariness.

“Just for a go around the paddock, Sassenach,” Jamie assured her. “I’ll have hold of the beast the whole time and she’ll no be going faster than a walk.”

“That’ll come later,” Brianna added to herself with a brief conspiratorial glance to Jamie.

“Perhaps we should make your riding conditional on your marks in school,” Claire suggested, her eyes gauging Brianna’s response. “If you keep them up and your teachers’ assessments are good you can go ahead and have more formal lessons at the farm after school––so long as they don’t interfere with your work,” she turned to address the last to Jamie. It was clear he not only approved but was likely planning to do just that anyway.

But it was concession enough to excite Brianna and set her chattering the rest of the way through dinner. 

“I’m gonna go write to Daddy about this,” she told Jamie and Claire as soon as her plate was cleared and she was dismissed from the table. 

“Things seem to be going well this week,” Claire commented beginning to clear the dishes. Jamie rose and walked over to help her. “You’re helping her with her homework?”

He flushed. “Yes and no. I mean… Aye, I’m helping her but no directly. Just giving her someone to teach her lessons to so she kens them better.”

Claire could see from Jamie’s hesitation that there was more. She filled the sink with water and waited him out.

“I had lessons of my own and went to university, so I’m no uneducated,” he reminded her. 

“Only in certain aspects of today’s world.”

“A lot passes in two hundred years. What Bree’s learning… it’s a bit easier pace to move at than some of the books I’ve been tryin’ to read through. They’d no be difficult to understand did I already have a larger base of reference––some of wha’ she’s gettin’ now.” He fiddled with a hanging thread on the dish towel until Claire held out a dripping plate for him to dry. He took it eagerly, grateful for a means of expending his self-conscious energy. “Were she to ask me a question direct, I canna say I’d be able to answer but I can turn most back to her.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Claire assured him. “Given she’s started calling you ‘Da’ and asking you to stay to dinner, I’d say you’re doing better than fine.”

“It’s just because it’s easier to explain to her friends at school,” Jamie dismissed the optimism in Claire’s voice. He was still getting used to hearing it and the way it made his chest feel full while also somehow stealing his breath. She still didn’t say it with the same comfort or enthusiasm that she reserved for ‘Daddy,’ but those might come with time and he was willing to wait for them. 

“Her friends aren’t here right now to hear it,” Claire pointed out with a smile that refused to be suppressed.  

 


	23. A Fuss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has growing concerns but Jamie finds an effective way to distract her with help from Brianna and Mrs. Graham.

As a new routine was established and Brianna settled in at school, two things began to worry Claire. Despite weekly calls to her lawyers’ office, the divorce proceedings hadn’t made any significant progress. They had heard from Frank’s lawyers but it had been a motion to delay putting the case before any court until they had had sufficient time to examine everything Claire’s team had put forth in her petition. It could be another month or two before they responded with either their agreement to the terms she had laid out or challenged it with demands of their own. A few letters had been exchanged between Frank and Brianna but Claire refused to read them without Brianna’s permission and wasn’t about to take the awkward step of asking.

The other concern that had been starting to bother her was far easier to confront: what was she going to do about Brianna’s birthday?

Brianna would soon be turning ten and in years past Claire would send Brianna to school with invitations for the ten to fifteen friends she wanted to attend a small party at their house––along with a few of Frank’s colleagues and after Claire had started medical school, her classmates––where there would be cake, presents, and a few games for the children. 

Though Brianna had made new friends, Claire wasn’t sure how any of them––or their parents––would react to a birthday party invitation after so little time. And regardless of whether Brianna’s new friends would show up or not, there was still the fact that her friends from Boston  _ couldn’t _ be there too. Neither would Frank.

“Something’s eatin’ at ye, Sassenach,” Jamie remarked while the three of them went for a walk one Saturday afternoon. 

Brianna had skipped down the sidewalk ahead of them only to pause over a large cluster of writhing ants––“Means we’ll have rain soon,” Jamie had said quietly as Brianna found a stick to move the ants in an attempt to see what it was that had them clambering over each other. 

“Ye’ve no done more than nod and grunt since we left yer flat.”

“I don’t grunt,” Claire objected before conceeding, “I can’t come up with any suitable ideas for celebrating Brianna’s birthday. The flat isn’t big enough for much of a party. I can order a cake but don’t have the time to handle the rest of the food I would need. And how do I get her excited about it when so many of the people she wants to have there won’t be able to make it? I can’t even feel confident that the friends she’s made at school will be allowed to attend––I’m sure their parents know about my situation and I doubt they approve.”

“Is it customary to make such a fuss over a birthday?” Jamie asked with such genuine curiosity it startled Claire out of her spiral of frustration.

“Well… yes… Especially since she’s turning ten. It’s not as much of a milestone as thirteen or sixteen, perhaps, but at this age she’s still agreeable and enthusiastic enough to get excited in a fun way.” Claire sighed. “It’s also the first of her birthdays  _ you’ll _ be here to see and I want it to be special for her on that account as well.” 

Jamie nodded. “Her birthday’s no for over a month yet,” he pointed out. “Ye’ll come up wi’ something in plenty of time,” he assured her, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her close for a quick kiss while Brianna was still distracted by the ants. 

Claire frowned. “I know… I just… I knew it was going to be…  _ different _ … But there are so many things… I thought I’d figured everything out and was prepared and then things like this come up––and Christmas and all those other holidays and traditions Frank and I had with her that are going to just be gone now and I want her to still be excited and happy but I worry––”

“Aye,” Jamie interrupted, raising a finger to her lips, “ye worry. It’s no necessarily a bad thing to think on these things but dinna let them get away from ye. We’ll find new ways forward; forge traditions of our own.”

She sighed and let herself be comforted because she knew he was right but with no available date for when her divorce would be finalized she felt the uncertainty of the future stretching out before her. 

Claire’s quiet was reflected in Jamie for the rest of their walk. As he was leaving to return to Mrs. Graham’s for the night, he pulled Brianna aside for a quiet goodbye and whispered, “I’ve something I’m goin’ to need yer help wi’ after school on Monday, but ye canna tell yer mam, aye?”

A sly smile crept to Brianna’s face as she glanced over her shoulder to where her mother was putting the dinner dishes away. She turned back to Jamie and nodded vigorously.

* * *

 

Mrs. Graham insisted on having Claire and Brianna over to dinner at her house once a week.

“So ye dinna need to be concerned with scroungin’ a meal together  _ every _ night,” she had said once. “And so I dinna have to take my own meals alone again. I’d forgotten how pleasurable it can be to cook for others till ye’re cookin’ for one unexpectedly,” she’d added, eying a bashful Jamie. Aside from his breakfast, he rarely ate at Mrs. Graham’s anymore and came home from Claire’s apartment so late in the evenings she hardly saw him either. 

Jamie would have brought Brianna with him from the barn so all Claire had to worry about was changing from her work clothes into something more comfortable before heading over herself. 

Instead of Mrs. Graham opening the door when Claire knocked, Brianna greeted her mother with a broad grin. 

“Hi Mama,” she said, still holding tight to the door and inadvertently preventing Claire from entering. “You’re early.”

“What?” Claire scoffed. She checked the watch on her wrist. “No I’m not; it’s six. I always get here at six so I can help Mrs. Graham set the table while we chat and then we eat at half past.”

“She doesn’t need help with the table today so you’re early,” Brianna insisted. 

Claire frowned. “So what, I’m supposed to go for a walk for the next thirty minutes and then come back for six thirty? Nonsense. Let me in, please.”

“It’s all set,” Jamie called from further in the house. “Ye dinna need to stall her anymore.”

“Stall me?” Claire asked with narrowed eyes intent on Brianna as she let go of the door and Claire pushed her way inside. She immediately stopped to stare.

Crepe paper streamers had been tacked up to the walls of the hallway––undoubtedly the work of Jamie and Brianna as the ones closer to the ceiling hung unevenly while the lower level could only be properly reached by Brianna and were carefully twisted but unevenly spaced. A few balloons hung intermittently as well and were inflated to varying degrees. 

Her eyes finally found Jamie standing in the doorway at the end of the hallway, a satisfied grin on his face. 

“She looks surprised,” Brianna declared triumphantly as she ran ahead of Claire to Jamie. “I told you she didn’t expect.” Both laughed––for different reasons––as Jamie draped his arm around Brianna’s shoulder and pulled her closer. 

“No, I dinna think she did,” he agreed.

“Hurry and let her through,” Mrs. Graham exclaimed from the darkened kitchen.

Jamie guided Brianna out of the way so that Claire could see a cake with a half-dozen lit candles illuminating the dinner table.

“We’re having the cake first!” Brianna explained with an excited bounce. “Mrs. Graham made it herself and then we’re having––”

Jamie covered Brianna’s mouth with his hand to stop the torrent of words and said, “Happy birthday,  _ mo nighean donn _ .”

With tears in her eyes, Claire stepped forward and blew out the candles on her cake.

“What does that mean?” Brianna asked when Jamie had removed his hand and Mrs. Graham had turned the lights on again. There weren’t as many streamers or balloons in the kitchen but the table sported a clean lace tablecloth and there was a bouquet of roses in the center and Mrs. Graham had even used icing in a matching shade of pink. 

“It’s Gáidhlig,” Jamie explained pulling out first Brianna’s chair and then Claire’s. “It mean’s ‘my brown-haired lass.’ You can be my red-haired lass if ye like.”

“How d’you say that?”

“ _ Mo nighean ruaidh _ .”

Brianna shrugged. “Sounds like you’re calling me ‘rude’ but…”

“Aye, an ye’re both bein’  _ rude _ just now,” Mrs. Graham interjected. “Ye’ve been impatient all afternoon for Claire to get here so ye can surprise her and now ye canna spare the birthday lass five minutes to make a wish and cut the cake.”

“It’s all right,” Claire insisted as she pulled one of the candles from the top of the cake and licked the frosting. Brianna quickly reached across the table to do the same, pulling two out and handing one over to Jamie. Claire smiled watching the two of them; having time together in the afternoons––just the two of them––had brought them a long way. “I’m curious to know which one of them told you it was my birthday.”

“It was Da’s idea,” Brianna chirped. “He needed my help shopping and decorating and Mrs. Graham said she’d help with food. 

“Oh it was,” Claire said as she turned her attention to Jamie inquisitively. Mrs. Graham had just handed over a piece of cake so he smirked at Claire as he lifted a forkful of cake to his mouth and took an oversized bite. 

“How old are you, Da?” Brianna asked suddenly.

“Why’re ye asking me how old  _ I  _ am? It’s yer mam’s birthday; ye should be askin’ how old  _ she _ is,” he challenged.

“It’s impolite to ask a lady her age,” Mrs. Graham scolded.

“Besides, she always says she’s turning twenty-nine,” Brianna informed him.

“Oh,” Jamie eyed Claire with amusement. “Well if she gets to choose and stay twenty-nine, I’m… two hundred twenty… four.”

“Two hundred?” Brianna rolled her eyes.

“Two hundred twenty-four,” Jamie corrected.

“Perhaps this will be the year I allow myself to turn thirty,” Claire suggested. 

“Perhaps ye should eat yer cake so she can open her presents and we can get to a proper supper,” Mrs. Graham said, steering the festivities back on track. “And I’ll have none of ye askin’ me  _ my _ age, thank ye very much.”

“Ye’re lovelier than any lass I ken save these two ladies,” Jamie assured her, “but ye cook better than either of them, and tha’s no something to be overlooked.”

Brianna finished her piece of cake and let her fork clatter onto the plate, a noise that made the flattered smile on Mrs. Graham’s face turn to a grimace. Brianna scampered to the counter where she retrieved a gift wrapped box. Jamie jumped up to help and make sure she didn’t drop it as she carried it to the table. Mrs. Graham hastily swept aside Claire’s empty plate so they could set it before her. 

The box was large enough that Claire felt inclined to stand to open it. 

Brianna grinned with barely contained excitement but Jamie had adopted his impenetrable mask leaving Claire with no idea what her gift might be. 

Inside was an odd assortment of things. She lifted out a smaller box containing a heavy glass bottle of perfume; “I picked it out,” Brianna told her with a grown-up air of pride. There were a few other, less expensive toiletry items as well; toothbrush, shampoo, cold cream, lipstick. There was also another box that took up most of the space inside and was obviously the reason Jamie had been concerned with Brianna carrying the box on her own.

“A camera?” Claire remarked, picking up the box and turning it over in her hands.

“I asked Brianna and she said ye didna bring one with ye from Boston,” Jamie told her. “ _ And _ I thought it would be useful when we go to Edinburgh.”

Claire knew her mouth must be gaping from the way Brianna was giggling. She looked from Jamie to Mrs. Graham who nodded with a subtle smile. 

“Mrs. Graham helped me arrange it––and Brianna, of course. I spoke wi’ her teachers about missing that Friday ye have off coming up and talked wi’ MacDonald as well. Ye can drive us down in the evening on Thursday and we’ll come back Sunday.”

“Jamie…” Claire said hesitantly, setting the camera box down. “I… It… It’s too much.” 

He and Mrs. Graham could see that she wasn’t simply saying it because she was surprised or emotional. 

“Why don’t the two of ye take that box to the parlor and open the camera?” Mrs. Graham suggested. “Bree here can help me clear the cake and finish with supper.”

Brianna looked at Mrs. Graham with confusion but the older woman held more than enough authority to keep her from challenging her orders. 

Jamie put the items back into the larger box and carried them out of the kitchen with Claire following close behind. 

“I’m sorry,” she began. “It’s all incredibly thoughtful and I appreciate the gesture but we can’t afford it, Jamie. Not if we want to be able to buy Lallybroch. I know you’re still getting used to how modern finances work––”

The lines of Jamie’s face hardened defensively but he kept his voice quiet as he interrupted. 

“I ken what it all costs fine. Some of what ye got in that there box was from Mrs. Graham,” he informed her. “It was her idea for me to take you and Brianna to Edinburgh for a few days.” He flushed and looked away from Claire for a moment. “She thought I ought to get away from Inverness for a bit; I’ve no left for more than a few hours since I came through the stones and that just when ye took me to Lallybroch and goin’ wi’ her to fetch the pair of ye from the airport.”

Claire’s uncertainty began to deflate and she crossed to hug Jamie. He pulled her close and rested his chin on the top of her head. 

“Maybe we do need this,” she said quietly. 

“Mrs. Graham helped me arrange everything. The hotel isna overpriced and we dinna have to do anything fancy like go to a theater––aye,” he said, as she pulled back to look up at him with confusion. “Mrs. Graham thought Brianna might enjoy a show, though I’m no sure what kind of show she had in mind––I was too afraid to ask.”

Claire shook her head and pressed her cheek to Jamie’s chest again. “Thank you for all this. And thank you for not rubbing it in that I’m forty now.”

He chuckled. “Doesna seem fair to do it now; no when I’ve near two hundred years on ye. Besides, when I look at ye, I see the same lass ye were when we were parted… like… like time stopped when ye were away from me and only started again when ye came back into my life.”

Claire smiled knowingly. “Why do you think I always told Brianna I was twenty-nine?”

They both laughed quietly. “So ye’re ready to be thirty, then?”

“I like the idea better than turning forty.”

They started as they heard Brianna’s footsteps on the hard floors, scurrying back toward the kitchen. 

“They’re not fighting,” her raised whisper reached them. “I think they’re gonna kiss.”

 


	24. The Streets of Edinburgh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embarking on a family weekend away to Edinburgh.

Brianna bounced most of the bus ride home with Jamie, her excitement over their impending trip boiling over. Claire had managed to finish up with her paperwork for the week earlier than usual by staying an extra hour Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday so she was able to get home in a timely manner and found Jamie waiting with a single suitcase––borrowed from Mrs. Graham––and Brianna with the contents of her closet and dresser strewn all about her room as she struggle to decide what to bring for the two and a half days they’d be gone.

“Ye dinna need nearly that much,” Jamie insisted with a shake of the head as Brianna continued to create a pile to pack. “Two and a half days, three nights.”

“But what if we _do_ something,” Brianna challenged. “If we go somewhere fancy, I need something fancy to wear. And if I bring something fancy, it needs to stay fancy so I have to have something else to change into for that day.”

“But surely ye dinna need so many shoes,” Jamie objected. “Ye’ve no got but two feet and the newspaper doesna say anything about rain the next few days.”

Claire watched Brianna roll her eyes before she spotted her and jumped up from the floor knocking the precariously stacked pile of clothes in the process and sending them spilling over.

“Mama! I’m almost ready,” she promised and it was Jamie’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Just remember to clean up what you don’t bring. The last thing you’ll want to do when we get home again is clean up the mess you leave now. Pack two pair of trousers, one play skirt, one fancy skirt with an appropriate sweater, four shirts, two pair of socks and underwear for each day, a pair of tights for each skirt, the light blanket off your bed, and your toothbrush,” Claire rattled off quickly before kissing Brianna’s cheek and turning to head off to her room where she’d already laid a few things out on her bed as she’d dressed for work that morning. Jamie followed her.

“She doesna need _that_ much, surely,” Jamie said with disbelief.

“You’d be surprised,” Claire said with a smile as she pulled out her own suitcase and began to lay in her folded trousers and a few sweaters. Jamie moved over and sat on the edge of her bed to watch.

“Did ye have much in mind for what ye wanted to do while we’re there?” he asked.

“I was thinking we could do breakfast out tomorrow morning and then walk around a bit and just see what there is. We’ll come up with ideas for things as we go, I’m sure––museums and such. And anything more specific that we might need tickets or a reservation for we can plan for Saturday or Sunday morning.”

Jamie nodded his understanding then his brow furrowed. “D’ye think… Holyroodhouse is still standing, aye?”

“We could take a walk down to see it,” Claire assured him. “Can probably take a partial tour, too, since the Royal Family aren’t in residence at the moment.”

“I think… I think tha’s a place I’ll no mind seein’ again. It’s difficult to say which will be too hard and which dinna mean sae much. I’ve mixed memories of that place, right enough, but I’d expect not to be so verra changed.”

“Not from the outside, at least,” Claire agreed. “I suspect it’ll be warmer inside and brighter with the electric lights.”

“Aye, but no changed beyond recognizing.”

“No, I don’t expect so.”

Brianna came scampering through the bedroom door a look of resignation on her face.

“I need help,” she admitted.

Jamie moved to get up but Brianna shook her head.

“Sorry, Da. This calls for Mama,” she told him, spinning around with a flurry of red hair and hurrying back to her room.

Claire and Jamie laughed quietly. “Do you want to put together some food to take with us? You’ll want to have something to tide you over in the hotel room, I’m sure.”

Dispersing to their various tasks, the sun was low on the horizon by the time the car was packed and they were ready to leave.

Jamie hesitated before climbing into the passenger side. Claire handed him the empty wastebasket she usually kept by the small table next to her bed.

“What’s this for?”

“In case your motion sickness gets the better of you,” Claire informed him. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

Jamie frowned at her but as he climbed it and set the bin on the floor between his feet, he seemed calmer.

In all the drive took them close to five hours. Brianna began whining about the halfway point that she was hungry and though Jamie didn’t say anything, Claire could hear his stomach growling. They were able to find a pub, eat, and get back on the road within an hour and before they’d been back on the road for forty-five minutes, Brianna had fallen asleep sprawled across the back seat.

Jamie kept glancing over his shoulder to check on her.

“Your stomach doing all right?” Claire inquired as they passed a sign that told them they were only fifty kilometers from Edinburgh.

“Aye. The dark helps––no so much to watch goin’ by.”

It was close to midnight when Claire finally pulled up to their hotel. She left Jamie with Brianna while she checked them in and when she came out again he’d already pulled Brianna out of the back seat to carry her inside.

“Third floor at the end of the hall,” Claire told him as she watched Brianna settle her cheek more firmly against his shoulder. Her arms were draped limply around his neck. Claire grabbed one of the suitcases and then led them upstairs to the room.

Jamie deposited Brianna on one of the two double beds then headed back down with Claire to get the rest of the luggage and move the car.

“I’m too tired to bother changing,” Claire lamented as she rubbed her road weary eyes.

Jamie was already stretched out on the second double bed, one hand resting on his chest and the other reaching open, inviting her to lay beside him and curl herself into his side. With a tired smile, she did just that and quickly joined them in sleep.

* * *

The hotel staff were able to point the trio in the direction of a large breakfast the next morning and as soon as their bellies were full, they took to the streets of Edinburgh to explore the shops and pop into a museum or two.

Brianna was as wide-eyed as Jamie. She was used to living in Boston, one of the oldest cities in America but still just a fraction of the age of Edinburgh, and, having been raised in part by an historian, was able to properly appreciate the difference. Jamie’s awe was inspired by the changes––or lack thereof––wrought on the familiar city by two hundred years. Claire had to be careful not to take too many pictures of the pair of them and their matching gaping expressions.

“I want to go there, please, please, please,” Brianna begged as she pulled on Claire’s arm and pointed at a sign for the Museum of Childhood.

“We can stop in for a bit but I don’t want to hear any complaining when we go to the National Gallery,” Claire warned her.

“Promise,” Brianna cried as she skipped ahead of her parents.

“Museum of Childhood?” Jamie repeated skeptically.

“Children’s toys and games from various time periods and places I’d imagine,” Claire shrugged.

Jamie held Claire’s hand as they walked through the exhibits and listened to Brianna’s excited chatter as she read off various placards in the displays. Jamie’s hand tightened around Claire’s when they reached a display of centuries old animal toys that had been hand carved, some of them painted as well.

“Did Sawny make the journey with you?” Claire whispered.

Jamie shook his head. “Left him behind at Lallybroch before I was turned over and sent to Ardsmuir. I expect one of Jenny and Ian’s bairns ended up wi’ him in the end.”

“Over here,” Brianna exclaimed pulling Jamie’s other hand so she could show them something. “We learned about this game in school.”

They finally managed to drag Brianna out of the museum to go grab something for lunch.

“Can we go see the castles now?” Brianna began whining as they started walking in the direction of the National Gallery.

“We’ll see the castles tomorrow,” Claire promised. “I already told you––”

“But the one in London is better,” Brianna whined. “Everybody knows that.”

“We’re no _in_ London,” Jamie pointed out to her. “When we do go to London, I promise ye we’ll go to the National Gallery there but for now, this one will ha’ to do.”

Brianna let out an exasperated sigh and was a little heavier in her steps as they continued down the street.

“My feet hurt,” she complained after a few more minutes.

“Then you should stop stamping them when you walk,” Claire suggested dryly.

“Oh! A book shop!” Brianna exclaimed, forgetting about her sore feet and skipping ahead again.

Jamie turned to Claire, confusion and exasperation written on his face. Claire laughed. “Welcome to the world of parenting,” she told him quietly. “It’s only supposed to get worse when they become teenagers, I’m afraid.”

They followed Brianna who had already ducked into the bookshop. Jamie strained his neck to see the sign above the door: F & M Booksellers Est. 1763. The small front space of the shop was deceptive; it extended a ways back and into shop space on either side in addition to filling several floors. There was little space to maneuver between the bookshelves where recent releases shared space with rare first editions and dusty old copies of titles that looked impressive in their age but excessively dull in subject.

Towards the back of the shop however, the space opened. There were only bookshelves along two of the walls and none freestanding in the middle of the floor. Instead, there were a handful of comfy chairs for reading and tucked into one corner was an antique printing press.

“Whoa,” Brianna breathed when she saw it. “Does it still work?” she asked a nearby employee who was rearranging books on the shelf.

“I’d expect so but there’s none as dare to try it,” he remarked with a smile.

“Be careful, Bree,” Claire warned. “Don’t touch it.”

“But Da is,” Brianna objected.

“Jamie,” Claire hissed.

He’d reached out and run his hand along the edge of the apparatus then peered at the typeset that had been arranged for the display; it appeared to be the first page of the Bible.

“Tha’s to honor Gutenburg,” the employ said, noting Jamie’s gaze. “Back when the shop here was started they used to print the books here in the back of the shop to sell out front.”

“Is this the same press they used then?” Brianna asked, her eyes widening.

Claire saw the amusement on the employee’s face. “No. To the best of my knowledge, that one broke more’n a hundred years back. My boss bought this one at auction about… oh… not quite fifteen years back, I’d say. Sometime about the end of the war though I dinna recall was it just before or just after it ended.”

Brianna nodded absentmindedly as she continued staring at the press.

“Do ye know how a press like this works?” Jamie asked her quietly. “Can ye make out the wee letters?” He caught her under her arms and lifted her up enough to see the tiny pieces of metal carefully aligned in the frame, whispering his way step by step through the process with the employee confirming and adding details where necessary; he even reached over and mimed the way the printers would roll the ink out over the typeset page and then bring the paper down to the type––“ye dinna want the ink to drip on the page by doin’ it the other way round.”

Watching, Claire pulled out the camera that Jamie and Brianna had given her for her birthday. She had loaded it with a fresh roll of film just that morning hoping to capture a few moments from the day but intending to save most of the roll for their ramblings through the castles and their grounds the following day. She snapped a few quick shots of Brianna and Jamie as they learned about the press. She then wandered off to explore the books lining the shelves, delighting in a gardening section complete with a shelf dedicated to traditional medicinal applications.

Jamie found her making her way slowly through a tome that someone had enhanced with small sketches of the plants in the margins.

“Brianna’s searching through the children’s section now,” he told Claire. “There was something I wanted to see did they have or no.”

Claire nodded, her attention never leaving the page. “I think I’ll get this too.”

She felt Jamie’s hand gently rub her shoulder before he kissed her temple. “I’ll be right back.”

Before they left, the employee was obliging enough to take a photo of the three of them standing outside in front of the shop next to the small placard and by the time they made it to the Gallery, it had closed for the evening.


	25. Pages of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie forces himself to confront part of the past that he has little memory of with Claire's help.

Jamie’s favorite thing about living in the twentieth century––aside from having Claire and Brianna in his life again––was electric light. It didn’t strain his eyes as painfully as candlelight had––when he’d even had _that_ available to him; he’d read in whatever light nature afforded him during those years in the cave. He had picked up a book at the shop that afternoon. It was the third and final volume in the set Frank had written on the ‘45 Rising. Jamie didn’t need the first two volumes having lived through them. He had lived through ten years covered by that third volume as well but it started with Culloden––which he still couldn’t remember other than waking on the battlefield and learning he wasn’t dead––and most of those ten years he’d lived of the aftermath had been in a cave. What information he’d received of the goings on in country had been rumors and unverified accounts; he had even less information after entering Ardsmuir. He wanted to know how much had been the truth.

And he was curious to see how Frank wrote about it, to learn more about the man than what he could reliably glean from Claire or Brianna. You could tell a lot about a man from the way he performs his work.

It had taken Jamie ten minutes of staring at the book in the store before he succeeded in calming the pounding in his ears and the nausea in his stomach. Claire had told him once that Frank resembled that distant relation. _Not a direct ancestor_ , Jamie reminded himself, looking at the photo of Frank in his office at Harvard that was printed in black and white on the back cover. He was leaning against the front of his desk which was artistically covered with research––not haphazard but not obsessively organized either. Frank’s hands were in his pockets and he was looking seriously at the camera. Jamie removed the book jacket when they got back to the hotel rather than face Claire or Brianna’s questions about it when he pulled it out in bed at night.

Brianna insisted Claire read in bed with her from the new book she’d begged them to buy for her; “an early birthday present,” Claire called it. After reading the first chapter aloud, Brianna was yawning too much to continue so Claire took over. Before Claire had finished with the second chapter, Brianna had fallen asleep and it was Claire yawning excessively.

She glanced over to where Jamie was sitting up in bed reading, his brow furrowed intensely as he turned the page, holding the book closer to the light of the lamp on the small table between the beds. The trip to Edinburgh, though short and nearly over, had been good for him––for _them_. Brianna had been amazed by all the ‘trivia’ Jamie knew about Holyrood House and its history.

“Do you know so much because you’re Scottish?” Brianna had asked. “Do you just grow up _knowing_ it all?”

Jamie had smiled and Claire tried not to laugh. “Aye, there’s something to that, I expect. Ye understand there’s something to learning and knowing and understanding about the place ye come from, no? About the people came before ye and what their lives were like?”

Brianna nodded. “Like Daddy’s genealogy research. That’s how he got so interested in the Jacobites––cause he had an ancestor who fought in the war. Do you have ancestors that fought in the Rising?”

Claire had seen Jamie swallow back a lump as he nodded. “Aye. I’ve quite a bit of kin buried at Culloden Moor.”

“I’ve been there,” Brianna said with solemn amazement. “Daddy took me when we visited after school ended.”

“Yer mam told me.”

They hadn’t decided yet if, when, or how to tell Brianna the truth about… all of it. But a part of Claire desperately wanted Jamie to be able to share that part of himself with their daughter––that part of _her_ self and who _she’d_ been in that time, how traveling through the stones had changed _her_.

“Maybe _we_ can go sometime,” Brianna had offered. “You can show me which of the stones you belong to.”

“I’d like that,” Jamie had answered quietly, the three of them wandering outside and onto the sparse garden paths.

If Jamie was every ready to return to Culloden Moor, he wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Claire watched Jamie turn the page again as Brianna sighed in her sleep beside her. The noise caused Jamie to look up briefly and smile as Claire snuggled down into the pillows that had been propping her up, Brianna leaning against her. She nestled her cheek to the top of Brianna’s head and breathed in her daughter’s scent. If she concentrated just right, she could still pull out the traces of the way Brianna had smelled as a baby asleep against her shoulder after nursing; could still remember the relief of having satiated her child’s needs and the release of being able to go back to sleep herself.

Claire fell asleep with a smile on her lips and her nose pressed to Brianna’s crown.

Jamie lost track of time as he read. He could tell the details weren’t sinking in and that he would end up reading and re-reading the book several times in order to make the glimpses he remembered align with what the page told him. Finally he closed the book and rubbed a hand over his face before setting it aside. There was a good chance he would have dreams tonight.

Reaching to turn off the lamp on the table by the bed, he paused to watch Claire with Brianna. Her mouth hung open in her sleep and he could hear a slight wheezing that aspired to be a snore. The tendrils of Brianna’s hair that draped near her forehead stirred slightly with each of Claire’s breaths.

Jamie smiled as the room went dark. He clung to the image of his girls and strained to hear the sounds of them in the quiet of the hotel room, hoping they would be enough to keep the dreams at bay.

* * *

 

Claire started from her sleep and immediately knew something was wrong. She blinked and brushed Brianna’s hair from her face before easing the girl off of her and onto the pillow.

She heard Jamie but he wasn’t in bed. Easing herself out from under the covers without disturbing Brianna, Claire padded towards the bathroom where a sliver of light was visible beneath the closed door.

She knocked lightly before trying the handle; he hadn’t locked it.

“Jamie? Are you all right?” she whispered, opening the door and slipping inside.

Jamie was leaning against the sink, his knuckles white where he gripped the porcelain. His breathing was ragged and his eyes and face were red.

“Sorry, Sassenach. I didna mean to wake ye I just…”

“A nightmare?” she asked, locking the door behind her and moving to rub his back. He wore a light plain t-shirt and pajama bottoms. His hair was dishevelled from tossing and turning in bed.

“Well it wasna a good dream,” he muttered before sighing. As Claire continued rubbing his back, Jamie’s grip on the sink relaxed.

“Will it help if I go back to bed with you?” Claire offered.

She saw the corner of Jamie’s mouth tick up in the mirror.

“It would but then I’d be bothered in other ways,” he tried to joke. “Besides, Bree will miss ye.”

“I can think of one thing I can do that might help settle you,” Claire teased, the fingers of her other hand drifting to the drawstring of his pajama bottoms and making quick work of the knot.

“Claire,” Jamie objected, his hand closing over her wrist. “What about Bree? She’s just the other side of that wall.”

“Then you had better be quiet.” Claire’s hand slipped out of sight and Jamie took tight hold of the edge of the sink once more.

It wasn’t long before Claire was on her knees and Jamie’s hands were tangled in her hair. She could feel the muscles in his thighs tensing under her hands as she braced herself. But instead of letting himself go, Jamie pulled her away and to her feet, kissing her and tasting himself on her lips and tongue.

He moved from her mouth along her jaw and down her throat, his hand finding and cupping her breast through the cotton of her nightgown. She reached behind her and found the edge of the sink letting Jamie brace her against it as he continued his path down the length of her body until the hem of her nightgown tickled her thighs when Jamie began pushing it up and out of his way.

His breath was hot and damp against her navel as he eased her underwear down her legs till they fell to the floor on their own. Tossing her a wry grin, he got down on his knees, hitching one of her legs over his shoulder and then trailed his tongue along the inside of her thigh.

Claire let her head fall back and closed her eyes. She could see the impression of the lightbulb overhead from behind the shut lids, glowing brighter and brighter as Jamie’s tongue teased and tortured her. Perspiration pooled in the hollow over her breast bone, tickling as it dribbled down her abdomen and was finally absorbed by the bunched cotton of her nightgown; a similar trail was making its way down her arching spine. The porcelain was beginning to absorb the heat from her bare buttocks pressed against it, the sweat of her palms making the surface slick.

She was so close––already beginning to tremble––when Jamie’s tongue vanished and her leg slipped from his shoulder. Then he rose between her legs and entered her with a deep and purposeful thrust. He got his hand over her mouth in time to muffle her moan.

“Remember, Claire,” he whispered, removing his hand when it was safe again, “ye have to keep quiet.” He caught her mouth in a kiss and she could feel him smile against her lips. Then he began to move within her, taking his time and loving her slowly and gently. He buried his face in her neck as he braced himself using the sink and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself flush against him and giving herself to him completely. They moved together and successfully banished all thought and memory leaving just their quiet calm.


	26. Making up for Missed Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna has friends over for her birthday party and Claire and Jamie have a big surprise in store for her.

Arranging things with Fiona’s mother was handled by Mrs. Graham leaving Claire to manage Iona Lindsay’s parents. She was surprised at how quickly they acquiesced to the birthday sleepover but from what Mrs. Lindsay said, it sounded like she had seen and appreciated Jamie meeting Brianna after school each day (even if she simultaneously judged Claire for not being the one to do it herself).

“He adores the child,” she said looking past Claire to where her own children played in the yard. Claire had yet to meet the woman’s husband and suspected he was less forthcoming when it came to helping with his children. “Listenin’ to her as she prattles away about school. Aye, Iona can go. It’s a small affair ye say?”

Claire had then explained the plan she and Jamie had for the trio of girls: some games though they were unlikely to need much guidance once they started playing together; dinner and cake and presents after Jamie’s special treat; they wouldn’t be allowed to stay up too late and they’d all be off to church in the morning where the girls would be turned back over to their parents’ custody.

Now she and Jamie had their eyes on the clock while the girls were busy giggling in the bedsheet tent they’d spent twenty minutes carefully constructing. Chairs had been pulled away from the table and draped with one sheet to make a tunnel entryway (the merits of both facing the chairs towards each other to allow the seats to double as shelves were weighed against the more delineated and enclosed nature of the entryway produced when their backs were to each other); additional bedsheets supplemented the tablecloth and the three huddled out of sight but not out of hearing––though they didn’t seem to realize that truth. Every so often they would crawl through the tunnel and dash off to Brianna’s room to retrieve more of her toys and books then squeal as they slid across the floor on their stocking feet and crash to their knees to crawl back into their fortress.

“This part over here is my room,” Brianna declared. “And you can sleep over here, and Fiona you’re smallest so you go over here.”

“Do ye think yer mam and da will let us sleep in here tonight?” Fiona asked in a loud whisper.

“I can ask,” Brianna said with casual confidence. “It is my birthday.”

“No till tomorrow,” Iona pointed out.

“We’re celebrating today. Now… we have to all set up our rooms with our things––oh, I forgot something.”

“I’ll come wi’ ye.”

“Me too.”

And they raced each other on hands and knees through the tunnel, bumping and nudging past each other with boisterous laughs.

“We need to be back by six,” Claire whispered to Jamie watching them from the kitchen. She had all the plates and flatware they would need for setting the table ready and waiting on the counter; the refrigerator had most of the food prepped so that all they needed was to cook it. “That’s when Mrs. Graham is coming over to help with dinner and bring the cake.”

“Aye, we ought to leave soon,” Jamie agreed. “There’s no tellin’ how long it’ll take to get the lasses away when it’s time to come back again… But ye dinna want to disrupt them when they’re like this, do ye?”

Claire smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder as his arm came up around her. “No.”

They let the girls play a little longer but they were beginning to get rambunctious as they scrambled back through their tunnel and sent a chair sliding several inches across the floor causing the tunnel to collapse and the girls to squeal loudly as the bedsheet fell on top of them.

Claire glanced at Jamie who nodded.

“All right, ladies,” Claire announced clapping her hands together loud enough to startle them into attention. “We have a special surprise for you all but you need to clean things up a bit first.” She waited for their groaning to stop before continuing. “We need to go for a drive and when we get back it’ll be time for some dinner and then cake and presents. After all that’s done you can rebuild.”

The girls sighed and rolled their eyes at one another as they set about dismantling their fort. Fiona balled up the bedsheets and stuck them in a corner while Brianna and Iona set the chairs back around the table.

As they shuffled into their coats and waited by the door, Brianna squinted up at Jamie. “Where’re we going?”

He grinned at her smugly. “Ye’ll see, _mo nighean ruiadh_.”

* * *

 

Brianna gasped and squealed in the back seat as she realized where they were going. She flapped her arms in excitement and got the other two girls worked up before they even had a clue what was happening.

MacDonald met them near the barn as Claire eased the car down the unpaved path and finally braked.

Jamie was out first and shaking hands with his boss while Claire tried to calm the girls warning them they would frighten the horses.

“Hello Miss Bree,” MacDonald greeted her, “and a happy birthday to ye. As I understand it, yer da was lookin’ for ye to be able to show yer friends here around a bit––let them see what it is ye help him wi’ here and get to know a few of the yearlings.”

“Thistle!” Brianna exclaimed. “Do you think we could take turns riding Thistle? She’s my favorite.”

MacDonald grinned and nodded. “Aye, I thought ye might want to do that. I’ve got it all settled for ye in the barn. Yer da kens what to do. I’ll be comin’ through with a few others need to get used to young folk like yerselves.” He nodded once more to Claire and each of the three girls before clapping Jamie on the shoulder.

Jamie led the way with Brianna close behind and Claire bringing up the rear as they entered the barn and Brianna got to point out the horses in their various stalls, bouncing on the balls of her feet as they reached Thistle. The young horse reached its head over the stall gate and whinnied at Brianna before nudging the side of her head looking for a snack.

Jamie got the leads and saddle necessary to take Thistle out to the paddock while he directed Claire through gathering the helmets and riding gear the girls would need. It took a few trips to set everything up but then he led Thistle through the barn with the girls cooing over her and the other horses whinnying to get some attention of their own.

As the birthday girl––and the child Thistle was most familiar with––Brianna got the first ride. Jamie kept her tethered and walked her slowly around the paddock fence three times before bringing her over to the mounting block so Brianna could give one of the other girls a turn.

Horses weren’t an unfamiliar thing to the girls, but Brianna’s obvious excitement was contagious and while they’d passed farms and fenced in horses regularly, they hadn’t much experience riding them––especially young horses that were still being trained.

Claire stood on the other side of the fence with the girls stuck waiting and watching, smiling at their excitement and enjoying their eager and animated discussion of the rider’s seat and technique, the way Thistle moved and Jamie’s skill in guiding her. After successfully circling the paddock nine times, Jamie pulled out an apple for Thistle and turned her loose in the paddock to enjoy herself for a while as he had the girls help him with the mash for the other horses’ dinners. This proved to be as exciting to them as riding.

After leading Thistle back inside for the night, MacDonald appeared again leading another yearling towards the party. A darker, skittish horse, the girls froze every time the creature flinched only relaxing as Jamie took the lead and murmured quietly to them all, easing the horse closer and closer Brianna was able to reach out and run a hand down its neck.

“What’s this one called?” Claire asked as Brianna yielded her spot next to the horse for Fiona to have a turn petting the timid creature.

“Heather,” MacDonald said. “Primrose and Snowdrop are the other fillies and there’s Jekyll, Sherlock, and Ivanhoe are the colts.”

“Will we meet all of ‘em?” Iona asked with wide eyes.

MacDonald laughed. “Just the lassies. The lads need special breaking to become racers.”

“The fillies won’t be racing?” Brianna asked with obvious disappointment.

“Not these ‘uns. I’m hopin’ they’ll be bought by a man I know wi’ a riding club. They train folk to ride and need good gentle ones as willna throw riders dinna ken what to do. And they need younger horses for the younger folk like yerselves.”

“Is that what’s going to happen to Thistle?” Brianna asked with a note of sadness. “Will she go somewhere like that? Is it far?”

MacDonald glanced to Jamie, uncertain.

“Actually,” Jamie jumped in, “Mr. MacDonald was tellin’ me just yesterday tha’ someone went and bought Thistle for a farm they wish to start. She’ll be stayin’ on here as a boarder until their barn is ready for her.”

Brianna remained deflated. “How long till she goes? And where is their new farm?”

“Well, I’ve a place in mind and I think yer mam will like it but we’ll be needin’ yer opinions of it ‘fore we buy it,” Jamie said with a shrug. He couldn’t hide the playful smile in the corners of his mouth as he watched Brianna’s jaw drop from the corner of his eye (followed by Fiona and Iona’s).

“ _You_ bought Thistle?” Brianna asked, desperately wanting to believe but protecting herself with a shield of disbelief.

“I have,” he told her, “but she’s no goin’ to be for me, exactly.”

Forgetting herself and startling poor Heather, Brianna launched herself at Jamie who caught her easily and swept her up into a hug. He reached up to brush the loose strands of her hair away from his mouth.

“Happy birthday, _mo nighean ruaidh_ ,” he murmured to her quietly. “I’m sorry I wasna there to see yer others. But I intend to be here for many, many more.”

“Thank you, Da,” she whispered back then turned her face to kiss his cheek.


	27. An Uninvited Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna's birthday party yields some surprises for Claire and Jamie.

They stayed at the barn for another half hour while MacDonald brought out Primrose and Snowdrop for a few minutes with the girls but then Claire announced it was time to go if they didn’t want Mrs. Graham to get tired of waiting for them and leave along with the cake.

Mrs. Graham had beat them back to the apartment but she wasn’t alone. Reverend Wakefield stood sheepishly with her, a sizeable cardboard box in his arms. He looked apologetic and Mrs. Graham was doing her best to smile as though things were all going according to plan.

“I hope ye dinna mind one more,” Reverend Wakefield said as Claire slipped the key into the lock and ushered everyone inside. “I received a package today from Boston wi’ instructions that it be brought to Brianna for her birthday.”

“Daddy!” Brianna exclaimed excitedly, rushing over to look at the box.

“Presents after dinner,” Claire reminded Brianna with gentle authority. “And the three of you were just at a barn so I’d appreciate it if all of you went to the bathroom and washed up.”

The girls understood an order when they heard it and Fiona and Iona both hastened to comply. Brianna eyed the box and then turned to her mother pointing out, “I already got one present at the barn so presents don’t have to wait till after dinner.”

“It might be your birthday, young lady, but that’s no excuse to sprout and attitude. Bathroom. Wash,” Claire instructed quietly but with an edge Brianna recognized and knew better than to test. She scurried to the bathroom leaving the adults still standing in the entryway.

“Let me set the cake down and then I’ll start pullin’ things together for dinner,” Mrs. Graham announced, breaking the silence if not the tension.

“I do apologize,” Reverend Wakefield said as Claire offered to take his coat. “I ought to have called first but I didna think there’d be any harm in dropping it off and perhaps stayin’ to watch her open it.”

“It’s fine,” Claire insisted with a polite smile. “I’ll take it and put it over with the others. And there’s plenty of food so no worries on that front.”

“The lasses seem to have enjoyed whatever it is ye’ve come from,” Reverend Wakefield observed accepting the chair Jamie guided him towards as well as a tumbler and a bottle of whisky. “Just a wee dram,” he murmured as Jamie poured.

“We took them to the stables where I work,” Jamie explained, sitting with the Reverend and pouring a generous dram for himself. “Bree goes there with me when she gets out of school and had mentioned showing it to her friends a few times so I thought this would be a good time to take them.”

Claire watched them and began to calm as she realized that Jamie, while surprised like she had been, was less flustered by Reverend Wakefield’s presence. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that Frank had sent Brianna’s birthday gift to him rather than to Brianna directly. She knew Frank had their address because he and Brianna exchanged letters like clockwork. Did Frank really think she would withhold Brianna’s birthday present? Or did Frank want someone to see it delivered to be able to report back on anything Brianna might be leaving out of her letters… Reverend Wakefield was too polite and too old a friend of Frank’s at this point to refuse, though the longer she stood watching him from the kitchen the more convinced she was that he hated being put in the middle.

The girls returned from washing their hands and Fiona began boisterously telling her grandmother and Reverend Wakefield about their recent excursion and Thistle. Iona hung back only recognizing Mrs. Graham vaguely from getting picked up after school and Reverend Wakefield only from Sunday services.

“A horse?” Reverend Wakefield said with surprise. “Ye’ve got a horse for yer birthday, ye say?”

“Ah-huh,” Brianna nodded and grinned. “And I’m gonna help Da train her and someday we’ll have a farm of our own for her and maybe some other horses too and––”

“That’s enough, Bree,” Claire interrupted. “Why don’t you and your friends work on setting the table? Dinner won’t take long to heat and once everyone’s had their fill you can open the rest of your presents so there’s time to make room for cake.”

Brianna and the other girls complied happily, oblivious to the surprise Reverend Wakefield failed to hide. Jamie pretended not to notice, smiling with gratitude as Brianna set a plate in front of him, Iona gave him flatware, and Fiona brought up the rear of their little train by offering him a napkin.

Whenever Thistle came up over dinner––which she did frequently in the girls’ excitement––Claire glanced at Jamie who seemed pleased by Brianna’s enthusiasm.

Claire couldn’t help but wonder what Frank’s reaction would be when he heard the news. Actually, the image of his overreaction made her smile. He would think it too much and a ploy on Jamie’s part; how little he knew of Jamie. And Brianna’s excitement was hardly superficial. She had wanted any kind of pet for years but Frank had always been anxious about the mess and responsibility; Claire hadn’t the heart to challenge him when her own work hours were too unreliable for her to be able to take care of a pet herself. She’d always felt guilty promising Brianna they’d get a dog or a cat someday in the near future when she was old enough to handle the responsibility herself.

A horse was more than she would have chosen but Jamie had insisted; Thistle meant so much to Brianna and had been their way to get to know one another. Besides, if they’d been able to raise her at Lallybroch in the way they’d intended, she would have been riding for years and would have had several horses from which to choose her own.

“I’m sorry you’ve been put in this position,” Claire told Reverend Wakefield quietly as the adults cleared the dinner table and the girls arranged Brianna’s small pile of presents. “Frank––”

“Brianna’s doing well,” Reverend Wakefield interrupted purposefully but still with a smile. “That’s what matters at the end of the day… to everyone. So long as it’s her best interests at the heart of it all, everything will find a way to work itself out.”

“I hope you’re right,” Claire said, biting her tongue. She had no doubt that they all wanted what was best for Brianna; it was that they had such different opinions of what that was that causing so many problems.

“I’m gonna save Daddy’s for last,” Brianna was explaining to her friends putting the travel worn box aside in favor of the one that Fiona handed her.

Fiona and Mrs. Graham gave Brianna a hula hoop and skipping rope while Iona gave Brianna a bracelet that matched her own, a token of their increasing friendship.

Brianna was surprised when Claire set a pair of boxes in front of her, one long and the other square.

“But… Thistle…” Brianna said confused.

“Yes, the horse is still yours,” Claire promised. “Now open this, please.”

Slowly, Brianna tore the paper and opened the boxes, rolling her eyes and smiling as she pulled out a new riding helmet and riding boots.

“For now ye’ll be borrowin’ a saddle as ye were before,” Jamie explained, “but yer mam said ye get a wee allowance so if ye save and do additional chores and things, ye should be able to save for a good saddle when Thistle and yerself are both grown enough to buy one that will last.”

“You’ll wear these every time you so much as _think_ about getting on a horse,” Claire instructed.

Brianna giggled and plopped the helmet on her head. “I guess that means I’m never taking it off,” she remarked adjusting the strap so it was no longer tangled with her hair.

Claire rolled her eyes with exaggeration as Fiona and Iona caught Brianna’s giggle; even Mrs. Graham and Reverend Wakefield laughed quietly.

Jamie smiled till his eyes drifted to the package Reverend Wakefield had brought––Brianna’s last gift, her gift from Frank. He rose and went to fetch it for her himself, offering it to her with a smile that was sadder than the last.

Brianna’s eyes lit up as she took the box and began fighting with the packaging adhesive that had been used to ensure it traveled safely from Boston the Inverness. Scissors were found and the box yielded. There were two envelopes resting atop the carefully packed contents; a board game––Clue––and several books that hadn’t been wrapped––the next two in the series begun with the book Jamie and Claire had bought her on their trip to Edinburgh the month before. She squealed as she tossed the envelopes aside and pulled out the books and the board game, clutching the books to her chest as Fiona and Iona looked over the game.

“It’s no spelled right,” Fiona pointed out.

“It’s the American version,” Iona explained.

“Daddy and I played this in his office whenever his students didn’t show up for meetings,” Brianna explained setting the books down opening the box to set up the game, quickly claiming the purple and red pieces. “He’s always the Professor and I was Miss Scarlett cause of my hair.”

Claire reached past Brianna to take up the envelopes that had been set aside, afraid they might inadvertently be thrown out with the discarded wrappings from the other gifts. “Before you start playing, Bree, why don’t we do cake? Reverend Wakefield and Mrs. Graham might wish to be on their way before it gets too late.” She noticed only one of the envelopes was addressed to Brianna; the other bore her name in Frank’s familiar script. The sight sent a chill through Claire. She hadn’t expected to hear from Frank except through her attorneys. Claire tucked the envelopes away for later; she didn’t want to think about Frank just then.

There was a flurry of crinkling wrapping paper as the girls crumpled it to throw it away and hurry to the table for singing and cake.

Mrs. Graham had the cake ready and was lighting the candles.

“Are ye feelin’ well, Claire?” Jamie whispered into her ear while everyone else was singing.

“I’ll show you later,” she told him with a forced smile. “You don’t want to miss this part.”

The candles lit Brianna’s face as she thought of her wish and then blew them out to great applause. The cake was cut and shared with icing smearing the girls’ faces and Reverend Wakefield turning down a second piece explaining that he ought to get back to the Manse.

“I have a sermon to finish for tomorrow and I need to remind Roger to work on his school assignments.”

“I’ll walk down wi’ ye,” Mrs. Graham said, hugging her granddaughter goodbye. “I’ll see ye in the morning to bring ye back to yer mam,” she told Fiona.

Jamie helped Claire clear the mess from the kitchen and dining areas while the girls huddled in a corner playing the board game Frank had sent.

“Are ye ready to talk about it, _mo nighean donn_?” Jamie asked quietly.

She showed him the envelopes.

“Ye havena opened them,” he remarked.

“No… I have a bad feeling about what he has to say.”

Jamie handed them back to her. “It’ll keep till tomorrow. Today has been a good day so let’s leave it as it is.” Claire nodded and Jamie kissed her forehead before leading her to the bedroom.

“You girls ought to start getting yourselves ready for bed,” she warned them at the door. “I’ll be back to turn the lights out in a half hour. You can set yourselves up to sleep in here or in Bree’s bedroom but you can’t be up all night.”

“G’night, Mama,” Brianna called over her shoulder.

“‘Night Claire.”

“Goodnight Mrs. Fraser,” Iona said politely.

Claire smiled to herself as she closed the bedroom door and moved to find her nightdress. Jamie was already busy washing up in the master bathroom, his small suitcase open on a chair. He was only staying over for the night so Claire wouldn’t have to worry about watching all three girls alone but Claire hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer before he moved into the apartment permanently. It felt so much more like a home with him there.

She set the letters on her bedside table and there they stayed until she, Jamie, and Brianna had returned from Mass alone. Fiona and Iona had gone home with their families and they had the rest of their Sunday to recover from the excitement of the previous day.

“I’ll teach you how to play Clue,” Brianna told Jamie as she scampered off to change into play clothes.

Jamie found Claire still standing in her church dress just staring at the envelopes on the bedside table.

“Do ye want me to open it?”

“No… I’ll do it.”

She had to read the letter through twice before it all sank in, then she handed it to Jamie and grabbed the letter for Brianna.

“Are you going to play too, Mama?” Brianna asked. She was kneeling on her chair reaching across the table to set the game up. “You can be Mrs. White. She’s kinda dressed like a nurse which is close to a doctor. Da’s gonna be Colonel Mustard.”

“Bree, honey, there’s a letter here for you from Daddy,” Claire said giving the envelope to Brianna. “It was in the box with your presents yesterday but got caught up in the wrappings. I set it aside for you because I didn’t think you would want to read it when your friends were still here.”

Brianna took the letter and swallowed as she looked back at Claire.

“I’ll uh… I’ll give you some privacy to read it.” She rose and headed back to her bedroom where Jamie was sitting on the bed with Claire’s letter clutched tightly in his hands.

“D’ye think Reverend Wakefield kent about this last night?” Jamie asked, his voice low and angry.

Claire shook her head. “No. I don’t think Frank spoke with him first. I think whatever word Reverend Wakefield had simply asked him to bring the present for Bree. Frank just says he’ll be over for Christmas and the winter break; he doesn’t say outright that he’s staying with the Reverend.”

“And d’ye think the Reverend will invite him to stay after all?” Jamie spat. “All he said about doin’ what was best for Brianna… From what little I know of the man, I canna think he’d approve of what Frank seems intent to do.”

Claire reached over and took the letter from Jamie’s hand, setting it aside and then interlacing their fingers together. “He hasn’t got a case. You and I both know it; the lawyers know it; _Frank_ knows it. But he feels he has to try. Wouldn’t you?”

“Aye,” Jamie grunted.

“And… I never wanted to take them away from each other completely… Bree… I know she misses him. The lawyers will help get this all straightened out officially and we can start moving forward properly… _together_ ,” Claire said, trying to frame things in a positive light. It had been such a lovely weekend and the last few months in Inverness had brought the three of them closer so that the future she’d been afraid to hope for when she’d first seen Jamie again, had begun to feel not only possible but inevitable.

“We’ll no be rid of him ever, will we?” Jamie asked quietly.

“Probably not. _Bree_ wouldn’t have it. But we’ll be in a position where it will be on _our_ terms; not his.” She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “It doesn’t seem like it right now––not the way he’s worded it––but this is progress. For so long he hadn’t responded to my lawyers or the divorce petition… We have to think of this as what we’ve been waiting for.”

Jamie snorted. “What we’ve been dreading, more like.” Still, he turned towards Claire and pressed his nose to the crown of her head breathing the scent of her deeply and holding it within him until his blood calmed. It had been a long time since he’d felt the kind of fear Frank’s letter had inspired, the fear of losing everything, of losing his family, of not being able to hold his life together. It had been a long time since he’d had so much _to_ lose and had only been able to let go the last time because it was the only way to protect them. He knew he shouldn’t blame Frank for what he was trying to do; hadn’t he essentially done the same when he sought that meeting with Claire at Mrs. Graham’s house?

And what of Brianna? His chest felt tight at the mere thought of in some way disappointing her or causing her pain.

He looked through the doorway to where he could just see her sitting at the table with her letter from Frank and a smile on her face. Rubbing Claire’s back a moment, he stood and walked out to see Brianna.

“Are ye ready to teach me how to play?” he asked pulling out a seat next to her as she put her letter aside.

“Ah-huh,” she nodded and started sorting the cards into their piles so she could draw out a murderer, a weapon, and a location.

“Good news in yer letter then,” he mused quietly. Claire was standing in the doorway watching them, still nervous about the whole situation.

Brianna nodded. “My birthday wish came true,” she whispered. “I can’t wait for you to meet Daddy. I wrote and told him all about our trip to Edinburgh and said he should talk to you about Holyrood cause you know all about it. Can we take him to see Thistle? I’ve written to him about her too but he doesn’t know she’s mine now. He always said pets were a lot of responsibility so I want to show him how I help you take care of her at the barn.”

It was impossible not to smile and take heart as Brianna chatted excitedly about all the aspects of her life in Scotland that she wanted to share with Frank. Scotland was in her blood and Jamie would defy anyone to try and part her from it now.


	28. Something to Think About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas break brings Frank to Scotland to visit Brianna.

Frank watched from the window of the spare room as Claire’s car pulled slowly up the drive and stopped in front of the Reverend’s door. He immediately caught sight of Brianna’s wild head bouncing in the front seat next to Claire, eager to get out and into the house. There didn’t appear to be anyone else inside and Frank clenched his jaw, surprised at his disappointment. He had wanted to see what Fraser was really like, to size him up, and to see how Brianna interacted with him. 

“Daddy?!” Brianna’s voice cried out from the entryway and everything else melted away. 

He turned and strode to the stairway calling, “Bree!” back to her. She met him at the bottom of the stairs, having been delayed momentarily by Claire pulling her coat off of her so she could hang it up.

The small strong arms were around his neck and he rose to his feet lifting her right off the ground, her head rested against his neck, her hair tickling his nose and sticking to his mouth as he breathed her in. 

“I’ve missed you, Daddy,” she told him pulling back and scrambling to be let down again. 

“Not as much as I’ve missed you,” he assured her. “Let me look at you.” He held her hands out at her sides so he could take in the vibrant red and green tartan dress she wore with a matching hair ribbon. Seeing the chain of her necklace––undoubtedly the locket he’d given her though the locket itself was tucked below the neckline, out of sight––he smiled and nodded his approval. “Three inches taller, I’d say; maybe even four. And your hair is longer and you’ve less dirt on your face than I seem to remember. What have you done with the Bree Randall I knew in Boston? This one seems positively grown up.”

Brianna rolled her eyes but when Frank let go her hands she did a little twirl to show how the skirt of her dress spun out. There was a grace and balance to the move that, while innocent, lacked the clumsy charm of true childhood, confirming what Frank had only been teasing at moments before; Brianna was growing up and changing and he’d been missing it. 

“I’ll be back at six to pick you up, Bree,” Claire said loudly from by the door, her own coat still buttoned and hugging the sleek curves of her form. 

Frank looked her over briefly but just as thoroughly as he had Brianna. He felt a jealous stab in his chest as he realized how well she looked, how happy––though she was frowning at him and had her hawk’s eyes on him, obviously reluctant to be seeing him again. She looked… younger; her hair was pulled back but she seemed to have stopped trying to straighten her curls into submission so the loose tendrils looked more purposeful and less a symptom of her being frazzled in some way. She seemed to be wearing less makeup too, a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose that he hadn’t seen in years. Even her clothes seemed to fit her better though he recognized the long coat and navy dress beneath from the closet they’d shared in Boston. 

“You’re not staying?” he asked knowing the question sounded stupid with the whine of disappointment. He cleared his throat and focused his attention on Brianna in the hope it would undo some of the damage. Brianna smiled up at him, took his hand and leaned into his side, draping his arm over her shoulders. 

“Jamie and I thought we’d take advantage and have an early dinner out,” Claire informed him. “We have a few things to take care of to finish getting ready for tomorrow but we’ll be here in time to pick Bree up for tonight’s mass.”

“I’m not in the nativity this year,” Brianna explained, “but depending on how it goes I might sign up to be an angel or something next year.”

“You’ve started going to church,” Frank observed with a note of disbelief. “I’m surprised they let you in given the circumstances.”

“Jamie likes being able to attend a regular mass and when your prayers have been answered, it seems appropriate to go and give thanks,” Claire responded with a barbed smile. 

“There you are, Claire,” Reverend Wakefield’s warm tones interrupted. For him Claire had a genuine smile. “Mrs. Graham and her daughter-in-law have been here half the afternoon cooking for dinner tonight.”

“Fiona’s here?” Brianna asked excitedly and darted towards the kitchen before she could receive an answer. 

“Are ye sure you and Mr. Fraser cannae join us?” Reverend Wakefield’s eyes darted briefly to Frank before returning to Claire. “It’ll no hurt to add two more to the party––Roger’s due back today for winter holiday, though he’s cutting it close.”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid there’s a few things we’ve been saving to take care of till Bree was safely out of the apartment,” Claire said quietly, her eyes looking past the Reverend to be sure Brianna was safely out of earshot. 

“Well, if ye make good time of it and can get back sooner than six, we’ll be sure to save some of our pudding for ye.”

“Thank you,” Claire repeated, reaching and finding the doorknob behind her. 

“Daddy, can you help Fiona and me set the table?” Brianna called running back. Seeing Claire was still there she hurried over to give her mother a quick hug and kiss before turning back to Frank again. “Fiona’s been polishing the silverware so she’s going to follow behind me and put those out––I’m in charge of the napkins––but we need someone she’ll trust with the plates and glasses.”

It wasn’t until Frank heard the door close that he was able to turn his thoughts completely back to Brianna.

“I suppose I can help. Does this mean dinner’s nearly ready?”

Brianna nodded and pulled him along after her.

* * *

“When ye said we’d have some time alone together after ye dropped Bree off, this isna what I thought ye had in mind,” Jamie said as he carried the box into Claire’s bedroom. Inside were the accumulated bags from her quick excursions out while on lunch break––Christmas presents stored in Jamie’s room at Mrs. Graham’s to protect them from Brianna’s prying eyes. Claire carried scissors, colorful paper, and clear adhesive tape.

“I know,” Claire said as they deposited all the supplies on her bed. “But it won’t take too long and then we can go out for a fancy dinner before picking Bree up for Mass.” She began pulling the shopping bags from the box and sorting the small gifts into piles. She wanted Jamie’s first twentieth century Christmas to be one Brianna would remember well but was reluctant to spend too much money on it with the prospect of going to court with Frank looming so close on the horizon. Most of what she’d chosen were practical items––a new pair of work boots for Jamie, some hair ribbons and books for Brianna, a new coat for herself. 

“Going to a restaurant isna what I had in mind either,” Jamie whispered in her ear as he slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her back against him. 

She laughed and leaned into him for a moment, rubbing her hand over his where he held her. “Well we could stay in, I suppose, but we still need to get these wrapped and hidden before we go to pick up Bree. I’ll wrap and you go make something to eat––I’m not sitting next to you in church if your stomach’s going to be grumbling all through the service.”

“No,” Jamie resisted. “I want ye to show me how it is ye do all this. I’ve had Bree telling me all her favorite Christmas stories and you seem to enjoy it well enough.”

Claire smiled as she pulled out the box with Jamie’s boots and checked to be sure the price stickers had been removed. 

“It was mostly because of Bree, actually. If you think she’s excited now… You know how hard it can be to get her up in the morning,” Claire explained setting the box in the center of a piece of wrapping paper. 

“Aye, she’s like her mother that way,” Jamie grinned as he moved the scissors out of Claire’s reach. She took hold of his hand and placed it atop the box to secure the overlapping edges of the paper while she cut some small strips of tape. 

“Well, there was one Christmas––I think she was four––she came into our bedroom at three o’clock in the morning and was jumping up and down on us to wake us up so she could open presents. Came very close to getting locked in the closet till a more decent hour.” 

Jamie laughed and turned the wrapped box over in his hands to examine it.

“You have to act surprised tomorrow,” Claire insisted as she took it back and marked a corner with a small ‘J.’ “I don’t know how many more years she’ll believe the stories and it’s so much more fun that she does.”

“Maybe  _ she’ll _ no believe for much longer,” Jamie said quietly, “but… I wouldna mind a bairn or two creepin’ in to wake us early on Christmas morning.”

“Or  _ two _ ?” Claire meant to tease but it was the first they’d discussed the possibility––the first either of them felt comfortable even allowing themselves to think that far into the future again––and the prospect he painted stole her breath. 

“As many as ye’re willing to give me,” he murmured, setting the box aside and taking her right hand to raise it to his lips and press a kiss to his ring.

Claire flushed and had to look away. “We’re… neither of us… we’re not as young as we were. I know we’re pretending I turned thirty but I really am forty.”

“And we’ll want to have the situation with Frank settled, get ye back down to having just one husband, aye,” he added with a soft smile. “But it’s something to think about, no?”

“To think about,” she agreed. “I’m pretty sure Brianna would enjoy it––or the idea of it at least. I’m not sure how much she’d appreciate the crying and diapers and such.”

Jamie raised his brows at Claire. “I’ve had the lass mucking stalls for a few weeks now. A bairn’s clout isna so daunting a task.”

Claire laughed and reached for another gift to wrap. “I suppose not. She wants to bring Frank to see Thistle, you know.”

“I know. And… sooner or later he and I will have to meet each other.”

“But it doesn’t have to be tonight,” Claire assured him. Her hands moved dexterously as she wielded the scissors and tape with her surgeon’s skills.

“No a meeting, no. But I wouldna mind waiting in the car while ye fetch her.” Jamie caught the rhythm of what she was doing and took over cutting and handing her the tape as she needed it. 

“I’m pretty sure he was hoping to catch a glimpse of you too––size you up.”

Jamie was putting the wrapped gifts back into the box so Claire could hide them in her closet until Brianna was safely asleep in bed. “Well,” he muttered, “wouldna want to disappoint him in that. Now… how much time to we have before we must go?” he asked, watching her as she carried the box to the closet and bent to rearrange things and conceal it better. “And dinna worry about dinner; there’s things I’m hungrier for than food.”

She looked over her shoulder to see him watching her and rolled her eyes even as a playful smile lit her face. 

* * *

They had finished dessert and drifted collectively to the Reverend’s library where Fiona had decorated while waiting for Brianna to arrive. Velvety bows and clusters of holly had been fastened midway up the book shelves––any higher and she would have required assistance that simply wasn’t to be had. Mrs. Graham set a tray out with coffee for the adults and cocoa for Brianna and Fiona.

Frank was in a corner with Reverend Wakefield and Roger, a book open in the Reverend’s hands that they were all examining––searching for the answer to a question Roger had had over dinner that had sparked quite a bit of debate. Fiona was helping her grandmother pour while Brianna drifted around examining the odds and ends about the large space. There was more than just books on the shelves and several tables dotted the room, most covered in piles of old papers. By a large desk there was a much smaller table that had escaped the avalanche of paper. She grinned as she got closer to it and realized what it was.

White and black enamel squares were inlaid into the wooden table top. The pieces were carved from some hardwood, one side’s pieces lightly stained, the other with a darker stain. She picked up the two queens and compared them side by side. There was more than just the stain to tell the one from the other; not just the queens, but all the pieces had a thick base to them with curling vines and scrolls circling it and framing a floral emblem. 

“A Scotch thistle,” Roger said coming up beside her and pointing to the emblem on the light queen. 

“And an English rose, I’m guessing,” Frank said reaching down and taking the darker queen from Brianna to examine it more closely. “These are magnificent. I didn’t realize you played, Reg.”

“Oh, it’s more for decoration. Roger and I have a wee game from time to time but we’re neither of us very good,” Reverend Wakefield said apologetically.

“Me either, I’m afraid. I never had the patience for it.” He turned the piece over in his hand before setting it back down.

“Da’s gonna teach me how to play,” Brianna stated as she put the light queen back on her place. “He said so after I taught him how to play Clue and he doesn’t know yet, but Mama and I got him a set for Christmas. It’s not as nice as this one though. Where’d you get it?” 

Brianna kept picking up the pieces and examining them as Reverend Wakefield and Roger both looked briefly at Frank, then at each other, and finally back to Frank. He was staring down at the top of Brianna’s red head, his mouth a stretched thin line. 

“Oh uh…” Reverend Wakefield stuttered through the awkward silence. “It was a thank you gift from a friend––a curator at a museum. I’d loaned part of my collection for a time and he kent a man who carved these. It was a hobby to fill his retirement.”

Fiona gasped from her place near the window and whined that she wasn’t ready for Brianna to go. 

Frank looked down at his watch to discover it was five minutes after six; he was torn between scoffing at those extra five minutes and being grateful it wasn’t five minutes  _ to _ six. His musing over the time was interrupted by Brianna throwing her arms around his neck. 

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to watch you open your presents in the morning,” Frank whispered to her, “or tell you the story of Scrooge tonight.” 

“It’s okay. I think I know it pretty well now. I probably know it enough now to be able to tell it to Da,” she told him before he felt her posture tense. She pulled back from him with an expression of sorrow that shifted quickly determination. “Actually… he doesn’t know too many Christmas stories. I think I’ll tell him a different one; Scrooge is yours and mine and Mama’s.” 

Frank gave her a forced smile and a nod. “Thank you. I like to think that one’s ours. Makes it special. I’ll read it to myself tonight and think of you.”

Brianna gave Frank another quick hug and a kiss on the cheek as they heard Mrs. Graham let Claire in and she called for Brianna to come get her coat so they wouldn’t be late for church. 

Claire nodded politely to Frank as she helped Brianna out the door. He followed and watched them make their way to the car; the front seat was occupied this time. 

Frank took a deep breath and held it, drawing himself up straighter as the passenger door opened and Jamie unfolded himself in time to catch an excited Brianna and lift her into the air with ease. The laughter from the three of them––Brianna’s high and fast, Claire’s a rippling chuckle, Jamie’s low and warm––echoed in the yard. It was chilly standing in the open doorway but the cold Frank felt had to do with Brianna; she was his center of warmth and he could see the way she gravitated to Jamie––could see that he too emitted that same lively heat… watched the way they seemed to bathe Claire’s face with it. 

And he was a satellite far enough to maintain an orbit but not close enough to enjoy more than just a brief glimmer of the light they cast––enough to know the heat existed but not to feel it first hand… not anymore.

Brianna turned in Jamie’s arms and waved to Frank before he could put her down. 

For a moment, Jamie’s eyes caught his. The smile faded to a polite stare and Jamie Fraser gave him a nod––or was it a bow? Either way, Frank found himself responding in a similar fashion. 

Jamie stiffly climbed back into the car under Frank’s gaze and a minute later Claire had restarted the car and they were pulling away from the manse. 


	29. Assets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Frank face off in court as their divorce proceedings begin.

Claire sat in the car for a few more moments building up her courage. It was cold and wet; rather than proper precipitation that could largely be avoided with the help of an umbrella, it was a fine and misty rain drifting down from the grey sky, the kind that clings to clothes and hair and seeps into stone. Claire found the weather perfectly appropriate for the mood she found herself in at the prospect of finally facing Frank and his lawyers––though she also noted that it was hardly uncommon weather for Scotland in late January.

She could feel her hair curling as she finally made a quick dash across the car park to the courthouse entrance. Her lawyers spotted her as she removed her coat in the lobby where the humidity was nearly as bad as outdoors.

“Mrs. Randall? I apologize, _Dr._ Randall,” the younger and squatter of the two men addressed her reaching out to shake her hand. A father and son pair, Claire preferred to think of Archibald and Walter MacGillvray as “not-Ned” and “really not-Ned,” with the younger (Walter) being only “not-Ned.” She didn’t care how much either of them reminded or failed to remind her of Ned Gowan so long as they helped her settle things with Frank once and for all. She’d been a nervous wreck since Frank’s arrival just before Christmas, first waiting for a hearing date to come down and then the shock that Frank’s lawyers had managed to get the courts to agree to one much sooner than she had been expecting; their capability in that regard had planted small seeds of doubt that she couldn’t help but water and tend even as Jamie did his best to distract and reassure her.

But he and Brianna were going to spend the morning at the shops and museums as the three of them had done when they’d visited for Claire’s birthday just a few short months before. After luncheon they would finally make their way to the courthouse to wait and see how everything was progressing.

“We’ve been assigned a small room upstairs for the negotiations,” Archie MacGillvray was explaining as he slowly guided Claire to the nearby staircase. “We’ll meet wi’ Mr. Randall and his lawyers to go over and finalize everything. It shouldna take long as he’s agreed to most of the requests laid out in yer initial petition.”

“But he’s challenging me for custody of Brianna.” It was that fact that had something roiling in the pit of Claire’s stomach; not butterflies but rather something with sharp teeth and claws that were currently just leaving scratches but could rend her from the inside out any moment.

“He is but as we’ve told ye many times before, he doesna have a case.”

“Your telling me that isn’t all that reassuring right now,” she confessed.

“Well ye’ll no have to wait too much longer for a judge to be tellin’ it to ye,” Walter assured her with a smile.

Frank and his attorneys were waiting outside the doors of the room they’d been assigned. The doors were locked while they waited for officers of the court to let them in and settle them. While the attorneys spent a few minutes introducing themselves, Claire and Frank stood several feet apart in a stony silence. She tried not to look at him and he seemed to be doing a pretty successful job of not looking at her either. It was only a few minutes before the judge seeing to their case arrived with a stenographer and a few other courthouse employees to open the room and quickly tidy it so they could start.

It wasn’t a proper courtroom the way Claire pictured them from newspaper accounts or the television programs. There was no judge’s bench or witness stands, just a long table with chairs on either side and a larger one at the head, a small desk to one side with the stenographer’s machine for keeping the official record of the proceedings.

There were quiet murmurs as everyone shuffled to their seats and the attorneys pulled out their files, their notepads, and various other items that made them look prepared and important. Claire was seated directly across from Frank and they finally looked at each other.

He looked pale and tired. There were new lines to his face, particularly around the mouth that could easily lend themselves to accentuating anger were he so provoked, but for now they made him look pitiful and old. She had agonized over her own wardrobe and makeup for the day, unwilling to accept Jamie’s reassurances that she looked perfectly presentable. She’d donned a conservative dress and had only light makeup on––Brianna had enjoyed helping her shop for both though she didn’t understand exactly why her mother needed them.

Finally the judge cleared his throat and introduced himself asking each of them to state their names for the record.

“Now then, as I understand it, Mrs. Claire Randall, ye’re the one’s filed this petition to end yer marriage to Mr. Frank Randall, is that correct?” the judge asked her directly.

With her eyes still on Frank, Claire nodded her head and said in as even a voice as she could muster, “That is correct.”

“And from the paperwork ye’re citing… _mutual…_ infidelities… as the reason ye’re seeking divorce.”

She felt the judge’s eyes on her. Her own eyes dropped to her hands. She had taken off the gold ring from Frank at the start of the new year and had it put away, uncertain what she ought to do with it. The skin where it had been was smooth in a way the rest of her hands were not, the coloring slightly off, redder and shinier from such long contact. Jamie’s ring remained on her right hand for now.

“That is correct,” she repeated in a quieter tone.

“And I see ye’ve provided evidence of Mr. Randall’s indiscretions…” the judge remarked, looking up from the forms in his hands to her. Walter opened a folder and handed Claire a small stack of letters.

Frank made an inarticulate noise of disgust as Claire passed them over to the judge for examination. She had only taken a few of the letters from Helen; the rest she’d left so Frank wouldn’t notice they were missing. It made her feel ashamed to remember poking through the drawers of his desk, the faint whiff of Helen’s perfume still clinging to them (Helen was a Chanel girl). There was also a note from another woman––a woman who had been before Helen and from the tone of her letter, not long before Helen––who wished to apologize to Claire for her own conduct with regards to Professor Randall and wanted to inform Claire as to her husband’s true character. As the judge moved from Helen’s letters to that note, Claire watched Frank’s brow furrow with confusion and the desire to tear the note from the judge’s hands to read it for himself. He hadn’t known about Ethel having contacted Claire and Claire had preferred for a long time to pretend the note had been a mistake, that the young woman had only fantasized about a relationship with Frank. But Claire knew that if she had truly believed such a falsehood, she would have destroyed the note instead of stashing it away between the pages of one of her medical text books.

“Would ye care to deny yer wife’s charges, Mr. Randall?” the judge inquired, looking at Frank over the rims of his reading glasses.

Claire watched Frank clench his jaw and shake his head.

“I’m afraid ye’ll need to speak up for the sake of the record,” the judge instructed.

“No,” Frank spat before drawing himself up and regaining his composure. “No, I will not deny that there have been times in our marriage when I have… strayed.”

The judge handed the papers back to Claire.

“And ye have evidence of yer own infidelities, Mrs. Randall?”

She handed over a two typed pages. Though there was heat in her cheeks and she could feel Frank’s judgment from across the table, she held her head high.

“A confession?” the judge sounded surprised. He bent his head and read through the pages.

Archie cleared his throat next to Walter. He hadn’t been in favor of the idea but Claire had insisted. Walter had backed her up though he too had clearly been uncomfortable about handing Claire’s handwritten account of her relationship with Jamie over to their secretary to be typed. It had been embarrassing to write down some of the details that she held private––sacred almost––but Jamie being Brianna’s biological father was the heart of her custody case and she wasn’t ashamed of him or of what they shared. She was ashamed that she had hurt Frank in the process of choosing Jamie and while she would never regret her choice, she could humble herself a little as atonement––but she drew the line at letting him take her daughter.

“So… ye lived wi’ Mr. Fraser for three years?”

“Yes, sir. We lived as man and wife during that time but then there was an accident and I––”

“Please, Mrs. Randall. Keep yer answers short. If I need to ken somethin’, I’ll ask,” the judge chastised. “Now… if it was yer original intent to stay wi’ Mr. Fraser… why did ye no file for divorce at that time? And why, when ye thought Mr. Fraser lost did ye return to Mr. Randall?”

“It… I didn’t want… I honestly don’t know why I didn’t look into divorcing Frank at the time. When I first came back, I offered and he refused,” Claire started to ramble and Frank interrupted her.

“You know why I refused. It’s the same reason we’re here today.” Frank turned to the judge, flinching when one of his attorneys reached to put a hand on his arm and quiet him. “Your honor, I just want to take my daughter back home. My wife took her with no warning and no concern for what––”

“She’s not _your_ daughter and you know it,” Claire interrupted. “And if you’d been paying attention it wouldn’t have been without warning. And as for ‘no concern,’ why do you think I waited till the summer holiday was almost over? I didn’t want to take her away from her friends or school in the middle of term. And––”

“That’s enough, Mrs. Randall, Mr. Randall,” the judge interrupted. He set Claire’s confession aside and removed his reading glasses so that he could stare each of them down like misbehaving school children. “We will get to the matter of custody in good time. I find ye meet the criteria for a divorce based on infidelity––unless ye wish to retract yer statement here Mrs. Randall or you would like to challenge yer wife’s assertions Mr. Randall?” Both Frank and Claire shook their heads and then the judge nodded and settled his reading glasses back on the bridge of his nose. Now,” he paused to stack the documents Claire had provided carefully before setting them aside and folding his hands in front of him again. “If the both of ye would turn over yer documentation pertaining to yer communal property and how ye wish to divide it,” he requested.

Both sets of lawyers opened their folders and sorted through papers as things got passed around and eventually made their way to the judge.

The rustling of the papers as the judge read through them was punctuated periodically as the man sniffed, cleared his throat, and made various other noises while reading. Claire looked to her hands again rather than look at Frank. She began turning the silver ring around on her right hand, scrutinizing the thistles and interlacing, tracing the lines as they looped and overlapped all the way around her finger.

They would marry as soon as legally able but they hadn’t decided many of the other details yet––they were all too familiar with outside forces interfering with their plans for the future. Would Jamie want her to move the ring to her other hand? It did feel strange not to have the second ring on her left hand but if the moved it then her right hand would feel naked and strange. Would he want to get her a new one––a second one?

Frank’s toe tapped impatiently on the floor and Claire found herself looking up at him. He seemed to be trying to avoid looking at her too, his eyes examining the interior decoration of the room; it was an odd mix of modern conveniences and decor overlaying the much older structure of the building. As though feeling her eyes on him, Frank turned his gaze back to her, his eyes dropping to her hands and her missing ring.

She felt herself flush but resisted the urge to hide her hands or look away.

“It looks as though the two of ye agree on most all the property,” the judge remarked. “Mrs. Randall, ye dinna want the house in Boston nor the automobiles––two of them, it appears. Ye’ve taken clothing, some books, and valuables in the form of… family jewelry, a tea service, some fine China, and flatware…”

“Those were gifts from my late uncle,” Claire explained. “The jewelry was my mother’s and I saved aside some pieces Frank bought me that I thought he might like for Brianna to have when she’s older but if he would prefer to have them back or give them to her himself, I can return them.”

Frank just nodded but the judge appeared content to wait for clarification until other matters were settled.

“And Mr. Randall you make no claims on the money that Mrs. Randall withdrew from your accounts?”

“I only took what I’d earned working at the hospital and what was left of my inheritance from Uncle Lamb after the cost of medical school,” Claire started but the judge raised a hand to stop her.

“I see what ye’ve itemized here, Mrs. Randall. I should like to be sure Mr. Randall has no objections he failed to include on his own assessment of the properties in question.”

“I don’t give a damn about the money,” Frank answered with as quiet a calm as he could muster. “She can take all of it so long as I get my daughter.”

The judge nodded. “Did any of yer wages from the hospital pay for the house, Mrs. Randall?”

“No, we bought the house when we arrived. It was Frank’s money from teaching––we didn’t even touch what Uncle Lamb left me.”

“And what about the automobiles? I presume one was for ye to drive to yer job,” the judge continued.

“Well, yes, I made most of the payments and it was in my name, but Frank did provide some of the down payment. It’s really… it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t have the car shipped here and I’ve already purchased––”

“Then Mr. Randall, I’m recommending ye sell the car that was yer wife’s and ye transfer the money to her or the two of ye find another way to reimburse Mrs. Randall for the cost of the vehicle.”

Frank’s face remained impassive as his head bobbed slightly. To anyone who didn’t know Frank the way Claire did, it might have passed for a detached nod of agreement.

“Is that all then?” Frank asked, his eyes locked on a spot on the table just beyond where he had his hands clenched together the knuckles pale. “If I agree to this can we finally move on?”

The judge’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Frank. Eventually Frank seemed to realize it and turned his head towards the judge. The expression on his face didn’t change. The judge made a low, indiscriminate sound then looked at the pages before him and made a few notes.

Claire wasn’t sure what that sound meant. From her experience of Scottish noises, it was somewhere between disapproval and amusement but she found neither reassuring, even after telling herself that it had been directed at Frank and not herself.

The judge piled the financial papers together and set the stack aside.

“Very well then. Ye’re both requesting full custody of the minor, Brianna Ellen Randall, age ten,” the judge verified. “I’ve read yer briefs on each of yer reasons for claiming custody and I’d like to start with _you,_ Mr. Randall. Why is it I should grant _you_ full custody?”


	30. Custody of Brianna Ellen Randall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Claire's custody battle over Brianna is decided.

It was quiet in the gallery, that vague hush that falls on places where significant documents and artifacts are housed, as though speaking around them will let them know how out-of-time they are and they might leave taking the history they carry with them on the way out. 

Jamie found himself focusing on the dates listed on the placards for each. 

  1. 1845\. 1793. 1868. 



All of them simultaneously younger and older than him. 

Brianna was quieter than usual but he wasn’t entirely surprised. She understood enough of what was going on at the courthouse. She stared at the painted faces and while her eyes caressed the brush strokes, took in the ways the colors were layered here and there, Jamie wasn’t sure how much of the portrait subjects she was actually seeing. 

Every time they passed a clock, Jamie calculated how much longer it was until the time he’d promised Claire he would bring Brianna to the courthouse. They should get something to eat on their way; there was no telling how long they would have to wait once they got there. It wasn’t a criminal trial so Jamie’s experiences with the legal system were irrelevant as well as out-dated but the sluggish pace of proceedings was one thing he was fairly certain remained universal. 

Brianna pulled on the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention as they stood in the doorway to a new wing. Three easels were scattered down the length of the gallery with art students diligently working to recreate the faces lining the walls before them.

“Are they allowed to do that?” Brianna asked in a whisper nodding at the painters. 

“Aye,” Jamie whispered back. “Sometimes it’s what ye need to do to learn yer trade––watching others or lookin’ at what they did.”

“And that helps?” she sounded skeptical. 

“If ye’ve a knack for it, perhaps. My mam––that is… yer gran––she liked to paint,” he told her. “She died when I was no much younger’n you. I remember watching her paint and thinkin’ how easy she made it seem.”

“Have you ever painted?”

Jamie grinned with amusement. “No, but yer Auntie Jenny tried her hand wi’ a brush a few times. She didna have the patience for it though.”

“What did she paint?”

“Portraits mostly… like these here,” he nodded to the framed canvases on the walls. 

“Do you have any I can see?” Brianna asked eagerly. 

Jamie frowned and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I dinna have much of anything from then… from before the war,” he remembered to add. 

The brief flicker of excitement faded from Brianna’s face. 

“Ye look like her ye know,” he said before her expression could settle completely back into her earlier distracted blankness. “I wish there were a way for ye to see it––to see her.”

The remark didn’t bring the flicker back but her expression became contemplative rather than vacant and distracted again. They moved further along the gallery. 

“I think I’d like to try painting,” Brianna remarked. 

Jamie’s lip twitched with the first hints of a prideful smile. “You do?”

She nodded. “We did some stuff in art class back in Boston but it was kid stuff, really,” she told him, speaking with an air of assumed maturity. “They had us paint our houses and our parents but they didn’t give us a lot of time or anything. And we never had…  _ that _ .” They were passing near one of the art students and Brianna gestured to the supplies laid out on a small stool––an array of brushes, small tubes of paint carefully sorted by color, a sketch book and loose pages with color studies. 

Jamie bit his lip as he walked over to the student and tapped lightly on her shoulder. 

“Excuse me, I dinna mean to interrupt ye,” he apologized. He could see Brianna’s face flushing red with embarrassment from the corner of his eye. “My daughter and I were just admiring yer work and I was wondering if ye could tell us a bit about what ye’re doin’ and how ye’re doin’ it.”

The young woman flushed and giggled self-consciously but she looked past Jamie to Brianna and gave her a nod. Brianna sheepishly moved closer so the young woman could explain her approach to the painting and a little about the different brushes and colors she was using. It was the disjointed explanation of someone put on the spot but after a few minutes both the young woman and Brianna relaxed and it became less of an informal lecture and more focused on Brianna’s specific questions. 

Jamie just stood back and watched. The young woman pulled out a slip of paper from her things and jotted down a list of supplies and where to find them in case they were interested. 

Brianna and Jamie thanked her then left the gallery and wandered in the general direction of the courthouse. 

“Are ye hungry?” Jamie asked, eager to delay whatever news awaited them. “It’s early for luncheon but there’s a bakery just up the way there.”

“Yes, please,” Brianna answered with an unexpected return to awkward formality. 

They shared a pastry and some tea in silence, both staring out the window at the people passing. Jamie spotted a stationary and art supply store and as soon as the crumbs had been brushed away and the napkins tossed in the trash bin, he pulled Brianna towards the store with the list of supplies still carefully folded in his pocket. 

While Brianna went straight for the paints, Jamie found a sketchbook and some pencils. He found her gawking at the tubes of pain a few minutes later. 

“Look at their names,” she said with awe. “Viridian… cadmium yellow… burnt umber… What  _ is _ umber?”

“I dinna ken but here,” he said, holding out the sketchbook and pencils. “Why don’t ye start small and work yer way up? Ye ken the lady said it helped her to draw a wee sketch before she put the paint to it.”

“What if I’m no good at it?”

“I dinna think it matters so long as ye enjoy doin’ it,” Jamie assured her as he guided her to the front of the store to pay. “And there’s a lot to be said for practicing at something. Ye ken how long it’s taken to break Thistle.”

That was enough to reassure Brianna. As soon as they were out of the store she had the sketchbook out of the bag and clutched to her chest. 

The bells from a nearby church tolled loudly.

“We ought to get on our way to meet up with yer mam,” Jamie said with resignation and reaching down, took loose hold of Brianna’s hand. 

* * *

“Ye’re claiming that ye adopted her?” the judge asked looking up at Frank from his notepad and playing with his pen.

“Yes,” Frank insisted trying to keep his forcefulness calm. “I’ve been her father since she was born. It’s  _ my _ name on her birth certificate. She bears  _ my _ name. She is  _ my _ daughter. My wife had no right––”

“Your name is on her birth certificate but she’s not yours biologically,” Claire interrupted. Walter reached over and rested a warning hand lightly on her forearm. “There is no denying that  _ I _ am her mother so I had  _ every _ right––”

“That’s enough,” the judge cut in with a wave of his hand. His attention hadn’t left Frank. “I’m afraid that simply bein’ present at the child’s birth and havin’ yerself entered as father on the birth certificate isna enough when the child’s paternity comes into question. Are ye challengin’ yer wife’s claims that the lass was fathered by another?”

Frank went red in the face, his eyes drifting to the pile of evidence Claire had provided to the court. She had handed over a folder of medical records from the physicians that treated her when she first reappeared stating her condition, blood tests that proved the impossibility of him fathering Brianna. She might even have managed to dig up  _ his _ medical records including the tests a specialist had run when he’d expressed concern that he and Claire hadn’t managed to conceive in the years after Brianna’s birth; when he’d lied and told his doctor that they’d actively been trying; when the results came back that he was sterile and  _ couldn’t _ father a child and he had switched doctors so he wouldn’t have to see the man again––a man to whom he’d talked extensively about his daughter, Brianna. 

But it wasn’t the medical records that weighed heavy on his chest and inspired a desperate fear; that was just dry, biological testimony that bored him and carried little weight with him. 

No, the panic took root when he saw the judge laying out the stack of photographs Claire had included, photos where the resemblance between Jamie Fraser and Brianna Randall couldn’t be denied… even by him. Despite the fact they were largely upside down and a few feet away, Frank could see that the redheaded pair shared the same eyes, nose, bone structure… the same smile. And that smile––that smile he had always loved to see and that he knew all the tricks to inspire––was all over the photographs. She and Fraser smiled with chocolate smeared across their lips and cheeks and chin, half-eaten cookies in their hands. She and Fraser smiled while standing next to the horse that must be the one he’d given her. She smiled with Claire on one side and Fraser on the other in front of a school on what was clearly Brianna’s first day. She laughed as she leaned over a birthday cake, Fraser grinning from behind two other smiling girls Brianna’s age. 

She looked happy. But those were just photographs. It was easy to make everything look fine and happy when all you had to do was smile for a camera and then paste the pictures into an album. Anyone looking through the photo albums from their house in Boston would have laughed if they were told the Randalls would wind up in divorce court. 

He wished he could reassure himself that anyone who simply  _ knew _ them would have been shocked by the news but no one he worked with had seemed all that surprised when he had to explain and put in for time off to deal with the mess Claire had left behind. They’d been sympathetic to his face but he was certain they had additional comments to share amongst themselves when he left the room. That sort of thing didn’t matter to him if it couldn’t be used to help get Brianna back. 

“Mr. Randall?” the judge repeated. “Are ye challengin’ yer wife’s claims about another man fatherin’ yer daughter?”

Frank shook his head. “No… but that doesn’t change the fact that she is  _ mine _ . It’s my name on the birth certificate,” he reiterated, clinging to the one substantive fact that kept his hope afloat.

“But ye’ve no paperwork from Mr. Fraser stating that he gave up his rights to the lass?”

“He wasn’t there to ask,” Frank retorted. “He was supposed to be dead. If I’d known he wasn’t… He should have come forward sooner. That was his responsibility and I shouldn’t have to suffer for it and neither should Bree.”

“If I’d known he wasn’t dead,” Claire said with as much calm as an outburst could be granted, “your name wouldn’t  _ be _ on the bloody birth certificate.”

Frank felt Claire’s accusatory gaze on his cheek and turned to face it. She knew he hadn’t known Fraser had survived at the time of Brianna’s birth any more than she’d known, but he  _ had _ learned the truth and he’d kept it to himself. A buried part of Frank was aware that he should probably feel shame for having kept that information from Claire yet instead what he felt was frustration––with himself and with circumstance––that he hadn’t realized the truth of what Fraser’s sudden and oddly documented death in the historical record might mean… that Fraser had succeeded in finding Claire and stealing her away from him yet again… that this time Fraser was taking more than just his wife. 

“That’s enough Mrs. Randall. Is Mr. Fraser here today?”

Both Claire and Frank’s attention whipped to the judge. 

“He was taking Brianna out for a bit of sightseeing around the city this morning,” Claire explained. “The plan was that they should meet me here for our luncheon break and see where things stood.”

The judge looked down at his wristwatch and motioned to one of the court officials stationed near the door. “Will ye go down to the lobby and see if Mr. Fraser is waiting there?” the judge requested showing the court official one of the photos from the file. “Please bring him back with ye and explain that I have a few questions for him. If he isna there yet, leave word with one of the secretaries to send him up.” His voice dropped noticeably as he added, “Be sure the child stays in the hall; I dinna want a scene.”

* * *

“Don’t. Move,” Brianna reiterated sternly.

Jamie couldn’t help letting his eyes slide towards her. She was perched on the edge of her seat, the sketchbook tilted at an angle so he couldn’t see her work. He could see the tip of her tongue protruding the slightest bit between her lips as she concentrated on the page. She looked up at him and he whipped his eyes straight ahead once more. The woman sitting at the desk was trying very hard not to laugh and distract Brianna. 

There was an exasperated sigh from Brianna and the pencil hit the floor. “It’s not coming out right,” she whined with quiet frustration. 

“Let me see,” Jamie pressed, moving and picking up the pencil before stooping to examine the portrait. She had been attempting to draw him in profile. His nose was too large and his mouth was a bit crooked but she had done an amazing job capturing the shape of his eye. “That’s verra clearly my beak,” he quipped tapping a finger against the nose on the page and then his own. “If ye’re lucky yers’ll no stick out as much as mine does.” He tapped her nose. 

Brianna looked up at him with an unamused expression she’d inherited from Claire. He laughed and reached to take the sketchbook from her. 

“Why don’ ye let me draw you,” he told her, settling back into his chair and propping the book against his knee. She straightened and sat still but her expression remained somber. Jamie sketched loosely, the tip of the pencil trembling on the paper as he struggled to make the stiff fingers of his already weaker hand do as he bid. Even the five minutes of drawing was making the joints ache. 

When Brianna looked at the little stick figure with squiggles for hair, she laughed and rolled her eyes. Taking the sketchbook back, she turned to another page for a fresh attempt. 

“Mr. Fraser?” 

Both looked up at the court officer standing a few feet away. 

“Aye, I’m James Fraser,” Jamie said standing and putting himself between Brianna and the strange man. He and Claire had refused to discuss how things might happen if for whatever reason the court decided Brianna should go with Frank. His breath came ragged with a sudden surge of fear. 

“The judge wishes for yer presence for some questioning,” the officer explained. “Ye’re uh… The child isna permitted inside,” he added. 

The woman at the desk had walked over to investigate what was going on and spoke up, “I’ll stay with the lass. Would ye care to have a go at drawin’ me instead of yer da? I ‘spect I’ll be a wee bit easier bein’ so much rounder than him; all circles, no angles, that’s me.”

Brianna looked to Jamie for reassurance. He pasted on a smile and gave her a nod. “I’ll be back fast as I can,” he promised, reaching out and cupping her cheek. He traced the line of her nose with his thumb before letting the hand drop and turning to follow the court officer. 

Jamie kept his head forward as the officer lead him down a hall and up a flight of stairs. This was nothing like the court houses he’d been in when he’d been tried in the past––the  _ distant _ past, now. But knowing that this wasn’t even a formal trial did nothing to calm the feeling radiating from his chest and out through his limbs. It was an unsteadiness that roiled in his stomach and made him fear he might be ill––just as he often was before battle. 

Which was worse, the thought of going before a judge again and discovering that the justice system was as corrupt now as it had been before, or the knowledge that he would have to face Frank Randall in just a few moments? 

The officer stopped in front of a large wooden door and let it swing open for Jamie to walk through first. 

Seeing Frank Randall in the flesh was worse. 

He looked so like Black Jack Randall it made Jamie’s knees shake. 

_ Black Jack Randall is dead, _ he reminded himself as he stepped into the room. 

He found Claire at the table and used her to steady himself. The eyes of everyone else landed on him at the same time, but he knew the relief in hers must be mirrored in his own; they would get through this together. 

“Mr. Fraser?” the man at the head of the table asked. He must be the judge.

“Aye,” Jamie said; too quiet, he cleared his throat and said it again louder. 

“Will ye please state yer full name for the record?”

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.”

“And ye claim the minor child Brianna Ellen Randall as yer daughter by blood?”

“Proudly.”

“Please have a seat, Mr. Fraser,” the judge nodded to the empty seat at the end of the table opposite him. “I dinna think this will take much longer.”

“As ye say, yer honor.” He sat stiff-backed in the chair, unable to relax with so much attention on him. He still avoided Frank Randall’s gaze. 

“Were ye ever asked to cede yer rights to yer daughter?”

“I… I’m no sure I understand yer question,” Jamie frowned. He glanced to Claire but she leaned forward and didn’t seem sure what to make of the question either. 

“Have ye ever felt or said that ye didna  _ want _ yer acknowledged child?”

“No!” Jamie sputtered. “No, I… I wanted her––Claire and I both did… badly.”

“And it was through an accident that this misunderstandin’ about yer bein’ alive transpired?”

Jamie licked his lips and nodded subtly. “I told Claire that if anything were to happen to me, I wanted to ken she and the bairn would be safe and looked after. I wanted her to go back to Mr. Randall,” he nodded again in Frank’s direction without looking at him. “But only if I couldna care for them myself. For… For a long time after my… accident… when I was lost and didna think I’d ever see them… It comforted me to ken they were safe and cared for, and for that I’m most grateful to Mr. Randall––truly––but I never stopped wantin’ them wi’ me.” 

“You see,” Frank spoke up. “He just admitted he told Claire he wanted me to raise Bree.” 

“If he couldn’t,” Claire reminded Frank. “But he can.”

“Mr. Fraser,” the judge spoke over Claire and Frank, “what means do ye have to care for yer daughter?”

“Ye mean, do I have a job? Aye. I’m a hand over at a stable in Inverness. I work wi’ horses, trainin’ them and breaking the young ones.”

“And where do ye live at present?”

“I rent a room wi’ a widow called Mrs. Graham,” Jamie explained keeping his attention as focused on the judge as that man’s was on him. “It’s no much for now but my––that is, Claire and I… we intend to wed as soon as we’re able and then we’ll be livin’ together.”

“So ye’re no living together just now?”

“No, sir,” Jamie shook his head. 

The judge frowned. “Is there room at this Mrs. Graham’s for a child as well? Does she have the room and would she be willing?”

It was Jamie’s turn to frown with confusion but he was distracted by the force with which Frank’s head spun to face the judge. 

When no words accompanied the movement, Jamie answered, “I think there’s room––her granddaughter stays wi’ her from time to time––and I’m sure she’d be willin’ if it were necessary.”

“Well, so long as it is an option for ye, I’m satisfied as far as yer bein’ able to find accommodations and provide for the lass,” the judge nodded with a wry grin. “And since none here’s put forth evidence that ye’ve ceded yer rights as the lass’ father and evidence  _ has _ been entered supportin’ yer claims to  _ bein’ _ her father––though that much is clear from the photographs alone…” The judge shuffled some papers around as he spoke and signed something with an emphatic strike of the pen to conclude as he finished his thought, “I’m grantin’ custody of the minor lass Brianna Ellen Randall to her biological father, one James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.”

“You can’t do that!” Frank shouted as he leapt to his feet and slammed his palms flat on the table. The lawyers to the right of him jumped but the judge didn’t blink. 

Jamie and Claire exchanged surprised and wary looks. Of all the possibilities they’d prepared for, Jamie being granted custody hadn’t made the list though Frank’s reaction to  _ not _ being granted custody wasn’t too far from some of the responses they’d imagined. 

“I believe ye’ll find I can, Mr. Randall, and I have,” the judge informed him. “I believe that was the last of what we had to discuss wi’ regards to the proceedings. I’ll file the paperwork and it’ll take some time to be formally processed but ye’ll be notified at the addresses ye’ve provided when yer divorce is finalized.” The judge tried to rise and leave but Frank refused to let the subject go, shaking off his lawyers’ attempts to calm him.

“But she’ll still… They’ll just… You can’t take her away from me like this,” Frank sputtered.

“Mr. Randall,” the judge replied cooly. “I believe ye’ll find  _ I _ ’ve no ruled that ye  _ cannae _ see the lass… That decision lies wi’ Mr. Fraser.”

Frank scoffed.

“Ye might make a better impression were ye to start by  _ askin’ _ him to let ye see her.”

Claire pressed her lips into a tight line but Jamie could see the brief flash of amusement in her eyes just as sure as he could feel the heat of embarrassment rise in his cheeks. 

Frank’s hands clenched into fists on the surface of the table as he let out an oddly strangled noise. It wasn’t a sob or even a grunt of frustration. 

Jamie went cold as he recognized the sound; he’d made it on several occasions. Once he could remember at Wentworth; once in a clearing in France; once near Craigh na Dun. Each time he’d believed he’d seen the last of Claire, believed that he had lost her for good.

“Mr. Randall…” the judge’s voice was quieter, gentler as he turned from the door to glance back at the broken man afraid. “I ken from the paperwork that ye are––or perhaps ye  _ were _ ––Catholic…”

Frank didn’t look at the judge; he kept his eyes on the grain of the table but his head vaguely nodded. 

“Then ye likely ken yer Bible and ye’ll perhaps remember one of the stories of Solomon…”

Frank’s brow furrowed before his head rose enough for him to peer at the judge. 

“Think on the sword and what ye’d have me do. Think on what ye  _ really _ want for yer daughter and what ye’re willin’ to sacrifice for her.” The judge slipped away. 

Jamie rounded the table to greet Claire and shake hands with her lawyers. 

“But ye’re no divorced yet,” Jamie muttered, confused. “Do I have to take Bree to stay wi’ me at Mrs. Graham’s?”

“I don’t think so,” Claire shook her head. “I think it would be enough for you to come to stay with Bree and me at the apartment.”

“But we cannae marry for some time still,” he objected.

“Then it gives us time to plan for the wedding, doesn’t it,” she teased, her relief and happiness seeping through.

“Claire…” he started to chide but Frank cleared his throat from behind Jamie.

He inhaled sharply with surprise. He hadn’t heard Frank walk over. 

“It’s probably useless for me to ask,” Frank began, his voice breaking. “But will you at least let me say a proper goodbye to her.”

“Frank, stop being absurd,” Claire spat. “I told you before, I never wanted to separate you and Bree entirely.”

“I believe the judge pointed it isn’t up to you anymore.”

Claire rolled her eyes and looked to Jamie whose eyes were wide and hard as they stared at Frank––at Black Jack Randall, for a moment… 

But it wasn’t Jack Randall Jamie saw looking at Frank… 

Frank looked old and tired and scared in ways of which Jack Randall was incapable. The heartbreak was written in the lines of his face leaving them as sharp as cruelty left the same lines on Jack Randall but so clearly wrought by different means… 

“She’ll be livin’ here is Scotland wi’ us,” Jamie declared in a sure voice. “But where you choose to make yer home is up to you. Claire says ye had a teaching position at Oxford once,” he hinted. 

“And if yer reasons for workin’ in Boston are gone…”

The lines softened and a faint light reignited in Frank’s eyes––so different now that Jamie looked at them, they could never be like Jack Randall’s. 

It would be a long time before Jamie could feel truly relaxed in Frank’s presence and he would never conquer the impulse to flinch when he first caught sight of Frank at a distance or from the corner of his eye. But from that day, Jamie stopped seeing Jack and started seeing Frank––the man who had loved, protected, and provided for his daughter for ten years when he couldn’t. 

“I meant what I told the judge… I’m grateful to ye. Ye’ve earned yer place in Bree’s heart and I’ll no be the one to try and cut ye out.”

“Thank you,” Frank said quietly. “May… Where is she?”

Frank quickly passed them in his eagerness to get to the lobby and see Brianna. Jamie and Claire took their time letting their hands find each other, his thumb playing with the ring he’d given her, the ring she still wore. When they got to the lobby, Frank was on his knees hugging Brianna and she had her cheek resting on his shoulder, one of her wrists clasped in her other hand as she clung to him. 

“You really want him to move from Boston?” Claire asked.

“It will make Bree happy to have him nearer. She’ll be able to talk wi’ him on yer telephone and she can visit wi’ him now and then.”

“She will be happier,” Claire agreed. She took her hand from his and slipped her arm around his waist, leaning her head into his chest as they both watched Brianna and Frank chattering away from a distance. 


	31. Dinner Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe (along with his wife, Gail) makes it out to Scotland for a visit and finally meets Jamie.

Joe looked around the terminal before he felt Gail’s hand on his arm.

“There she is,” Gail said with a wave for Claire. 

Claire stood next to the wall, apparently alone. Joe strode over to embrace his friend. “LJ,” he greeted her.

“Joe,” Claire said, returning his embrace with a laugh. She turned to Gail and hugged her as well. “I’m so glad you could finally make it over.”

Joe glanced around as he continued, “I was hoping we’d get over here sooner so I could meet this guy of yours and check him out with plenty of time before the wedding but I guess three days’ll have to be enough.”

Gail rolled her eyes but Claire laughed some more. 

“You can stop looking,” she told him. “If he were here you wouldn’t be able to miss him. He and Bree are at the stable finishing up for the day then they’re going to head home to wash. I’m going to take you to your inn so you can settle in a bit before we go to dinner.”

“Sounds like you have a plan,” Joe remarked with a grin. “Lead the way.”

“I want to hear about your plans,” Gail said as they settled into the car a short time later. “From your letters it sounds like you’re having a small wedding?”

“Neither of us have any family left aside from Bree,” Claire explained. “And we can’t have a church wedding now that I’m officially divorced so it’ll just be a handful of us at the registry office.”

“I know Frank won’t be there but is he gonna watch Bree while you two take a proper honeymoon?” Joe asked with a suggestive movement from his eyebrows. 

Claire grinned but shook her head. “He’s still settling his position with Harvard. In fact, we’ve decided to take Bree with us. She wants to go to London to visit some of the museums.” 

“You’re not gonna spend your wedding night with your  _ daughter _ hanging around?” Joe exclaimed with surprise.

“We’re not leaving for London right away. Bree will spend  _ that _ night at a friend’s house and Jamie and I will have the flat to ourselves.”

“And how do you feel about… everything?” Gail hinted. 

“You mean the divorce and Frank? I… I’m relieved the divorce is final and Jamie and I can finally marry agai––get married. He’s surprisingly… traditional about some things. He hasn’t been comfortable about living together while the divorce was still going through. But what about you? How’s Boston been since I’ve been away?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

“It’s still there,” Joe joked. “Not the same at the hospital without you––though I doubt you’re surprised by that. Which reminds me…” He reached into one of his travel bags and pulled out a paperback romance novel that seemed relatively new. “Brought you a wedding present of sorts.” 

They were stopped at an intersection so Claire was able to glance at the cover briefly. 

“ _ Nurse Nancy _ ?”

“I hope you haven’t read it yet. I wasn’t sure what you’d have for this sort of thing over here.”

“Well I’ve yet to find any at the hospital where I’m working now,” Claire admitted. “I did spot one in a patient’s bag beside the bed when I had a night shift a few weeks ago. She was asleep so I borrowed it for a few chapters and put it back before she knew it’d been missing.”

“The two of you are horrible,” Gail said with a laugh that suggested amusement rather than disgust. “We got you a  _ real _ wedding present too, by the way.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Claire’s entire face shifted in the rearview mirror as her eyes shone with emotion. She had missed spending time with Joe and Gail, more than she’d realized. With Frank it had always helped to have them as someone she could enjoy while Frank took a turn as the odd one out in a social situation. 

Now she was eager––and a little nervous––to finally introduce them to Jamie and vice versa. In her letters she had only ever been vague as to the origins of her relationship with Jamie but it wouldn’t take more than seeing Jamie and Brianna together for Joe to guess at more of the truth; how much of the  _ whole _ truth she would wind up telling Joe was another story that would depend on what the two men made of each other when they met at dinner. 

Claire pulled over to the curb outside Mrs. Baird’s inn. 

“This is the same inn where Frank and I stayed on my first visit to Scotland,” she announced as she turned off the car. “I’ll help bring your bags up and then I have a quick errand to run while you settle yourselves. We can meet back here in another thirty minutes to go to dinner.”

* * *

Joe spotted Brianna with a large, red-headed man sitting at a table in the corner of the restaurant.

“You know, you don’t realize how long it’s been until you see how much the kids have grown,” Gail remarked as first Jamie and then Brianna spotted Claire leading the trio over to the reserved table. 

“Dr. Joe!” Brianna exclaimed, jumping excitedly to her feet. 

“Well hello there, Miss Bree,” Joe grinned while watching Jamie from the corner of his eye; he thought he saw a flicker of surprise before a more reserved mask with a polite, close-lipped smile dropped across his features. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you. The nurses still ask about you and your mama all the time.”

“Mama works at the hospital here but she doesn’t do as much surgery as in Boston,” Brianna explained as Joe and Gail took up seats opposite Jamie and Claire. “There aren’t as many people who get hurt here as there are in Boston,” she added matter-of-factly. 

“Joe, Gail, I’d like you to meet Jamie,” Claire said with a smile. 

Jamie rose off his seat a little to reach over the table and shake Joe’s hand. 

“Claire’s told me a bit about ye,” Jamie said.

“Only good things, I hope,” Joe grinned. 

Jamie smiled and nodded. “She said ye were in yer medical classes together. That ye became fast friends.”

“The fast friendship forged by those who find themselves… out of place,” Joe aceded. “But what about the two of you? I have to admit… Claire never mentioned you.”

Claire looked down at the table and flushed. “Jamie was… too painful to talk about, Joe,” she confessed, her tone of voice quietly asking Joe not to push. 

“Mama thought he was dead but he found us,” Brianna explained in her own way. “You’re coming to the wedding, right? I got to get a new fancy dress for it and Mama let me help pick out her dress too.” 

Jamie relaxed and smiled pridefully down at Brianna. “Bree’s been teasin’ me about these dresses for near a month now. They wouldna allow me to come wi’ them while they chose but when the time came to buy my wedding clothes, I seem to recall  _ both _ of ye no only bein’ there but givin’ me no say in the matter.” 

Joe chuckled. “Gail did the same with me when we married. Don’t think I even made it to the shop or wherever it was she found me that suit. I showed up at her parents’ house some day before the wedding and she had it laid out on the bed like it was waitin’ for a body.”

Claire beamed as Jamie laughed and Gail rolled her eyes. 

“Are you in charge of making sure your mama has everything she needs?” Gail asked Brianna. 

Brianna’s brow furrowed. “I think she does. She’s got her dress and her shoes.”

Gail started to clarify what she meant, but a waiter appeared to offer them menus and recite the specials. Though the awkwardness had started to dissipate, both sides of the table were grateful for the interruption and the fresh start that presented itself when the waiter left again. 

“Claire mentioned in the car that it’s to be a small ceremony as neither of your have any family,” Joe addressed Jamie. Gail’s heel ground into the toes of Joe’s right foot under the table. Claire’s hand found Jamie’s resting on his leg and gave it a quick squeeze. 

“No I… I lost my family.”

“It’s easy to forget how many civilians the war took over here,” Gail commented. 

“Sorry to hear about your family,” was as much apology as Joe was willing to offer before he began fishing for more details. “You fought in the war?”

Claire’s fingernails suddenly bit into the back of Jamie’s hand. 

“Aye. I’ve fought on many battlefields.”

“He fought in France,” Claire interjected, looking to Jamie. The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement even as obvious sorrow took over in his eyes. 

France. He’d been there several times and had fought a variety of foes. Too many of those skirmishes had ended badly. 

“Oh, is that where you met?” 

Claire didn’t look at Jamie, just quickly responded with a vague, “We spent time together in France, yes.” 

Joe nodded as he saw pieces of the puzzle falling into place and a familiar picture taking shape. “From what Claire said, it doesn’t sound like you’re not going there for the honeymoon.”

“Really, Joe,” Gail scolded. “You think they’d want to go somewhere such horrible things happened for their  _ honeymoon _ ?”

“Cause  _ nothing _ horrible happened in  _ London _ ,” Joe countered playfully. 

“He’s a point. It’s in goin’ back to the places where ye lost things that pain ye still that ye find yerself makin’ peace with it,” Jamie agreed though from the distracted and haunted look in his eyes, it was clear to Joe and Gail that Jamie was talking about more than just the idea of where to honeymoon. “Did I no go back to where I was separated from  _ you _ , Sassenach, I’d no have found myself in a place where I could search for ye in a proper way.” 

“I don’t think I’m ready to face France yet,” Claire said quietly. 

“No yet,” Jamie agreed with a nod, “but someday… We can go and face what happened there  _ together _ .” 

Jamie leaned down to kiss Claire on the crown, forgetting or not caring where they were. Claire’s coloring remained pale but as she bowed her head there was no missing her smile. Jamie’s gesture distracted the participants enough for Joe and Gail to exchange glances of their own. They’d been to enough dinners with Claire and Frank back in Boston to see the marked difference Jamie wrought in Claire; the teasing back and forth was kinder, their contact more intimate for its innocence and simplicity. 

“Can I ask a question?” Brianna asked peeking over her menu. “What is it that makes French onion soup French? Are the onions French or is it the whole soup?”


	32. A Declaration of Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire marry again with memories of their first ceremony heavy in their minds.

Brianna had to stand on the bed to reach all the way up her mother’s back with the zipper while Claire carefully held her hair out of the way so her curls wouldn’t get caught. 

“There,” Brianna said with satisfaction. 

“Wait,” Claire cried before Brianna could bounce down onto the bed with a flounce. “I need help with my necklace too.” She crossed to the jewelry box on the dressing table. The pearls made a delicate ribbing sound against each other as she slid them from their small, protective drawstring bag and cupped them in her palm. They were cool and smooth to the touch. Her thumb rubbed lightly at one of the gold roundels, buffing it to a low shine. It should have occurred to her to take time to clean them but there was no time for that now. 

“That’s pretty,” Brianna said with quiet awe as she watched Claire work the clasp before taking it in her smaller fingers. Claire gathered her hair once more, baring her neck. When she’d successfully secured the necklace, Brianna’s fingers trailed along the line of pearls and poked at the smaller ones where they hung from the roundels by only a few links of gold chain. 

“Your Da gave this to me back before you were born,” Claire explained, turning around so Brianna could examine them from the front. “They belonged to your Grannie Ellen and someday they’ll be yours.”

Brianna’s eyes widened. “Mine?” 

Claire smiled and nodded. “Someday. Maybe we’ll save them for when you get married. I bet Da will like that.” 

Brianna nodded and turned to get down from the bed, her hand going up briefly to the gold chain around her own neck. The charm on it was tucked down the front of her blue dress. 

Claire turned to check her appearance once more in the mirror and Brianna came to stand beside her. They were both wearing complimentary shades of blue. Brianna’s dress was darker, close to the color of her eyes with a pale blue sash at the waist. A matching pale ribbon formed a bow at the back of her head, pulling some of her hair up while the rest flowed down over her shoulders and slightly puffed short sleeves in vibrant waves. 

Claire’s dress was a blue so pale it almost looked gray. What at first looked like darker blue polka dots were actually small printed flowers. She’d taken extra care with her hair, only softening the curls enough to capture them effectively with the enameled floral combs behind her ears. She frowned at the pearl necklace wondering if it was too much to pair with such a dress. 

“Da’s going to love it,” Brianna grinned at her in the mirror. 

“Thank you, love,” Claire said. “We should be going. Joe and Gail are probably waiting for us outside.”

Brianna hurried to the door to grab her small overnight bag waiting by her bed. On the floor next to it her larger suitcase was already packed for their trip to London. Claire took only her small white handbag. 

“Well if it isn’t the blushing bride,” Joe said as Claire closed the main door behind them. 

“It’s only the registry office,” Claire reminded Joe again. “The ceremony isn’t going to be long or elaborate and once it’s over we’re just having a small dinner at Mrs. Graham’s. I can drive us there.”

“Nonsense,” Joe insisted taking the keys from Claire’s grasp, opening the back passenger door, and ushering first Brianna and then Claire in. “The bride isn’t supposed to drive herself on her wedding day.”

“And you’re sure you can manage?” Claire asked with a glance to Gail for confirmation. Joe tried to look offended but couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. 

“I’ll keep him on the right side of the road,” Gail promised then after a pause added, “which in this case is the left.”

“Drive slow,” Claire advised before ducking her head and pulling the door closed behind her. To Brianna she insisted, “Put on your seatbelt.”

* * *

“They’ll be here any moment,” Mrs. Graham insisted to Jamie who was tapping his fingers against his thigh. He didn’t care for how the suit jacket felt across the shoulders. He couldn’t help shrugging to try and readjust where the seams fell but it was no use. Formal clothes were constructed in completely different ways from what he was used to. It wasn’t as noticeable in the looser shirts he wore most days but this suit was far from everyday attire. Though it wasn’t as bad as some of the things he’d seen with Claire and Brianna when they’d gone out to the stores. Claire had made a point of showing him what most men wore for church weddings and Jamie decided to count himself lucky. Of course, Claire had said he could get a more formal kilt to wear with the jacket if he liked but he’d shot down that idea. They didn’t have kilts in true Fraser colors and he refused to marry in some garish approximation or outright fabrication of the Fraser tartan.

As he shrugged his shoulders again, he told himself that wearing the kilt wouldn’t have changed the fit of his suit jacket anyway. 

Mrs. Graham scolded him again for fidgeting and reached up to straighten the floral sprig she’d insisted on carefully pinning to his lapel. When he saw what they were, his objections died on his lips. 

“There they are,” Mrs. Graham nodded to the road where the car inched up to the curb. Jamie was puzzled by the sly look on her face until Claire stepped out of the car and came close enough for him to see her properly. Claire must have told Mrs. Graham about the dress she’d picked. 

Claire flushed under Jamie’s warm smile then laughed as she noticed Mrs. Graham’s unexpected addition to his attire.

“Forget me nots,” she said quietly, her fingers gently caressing the carefully prepared sprig of tiny flowers at his lapel. 

“Shall we?” Jamie asked, offering Claire an elbow to loop her hands through on one side and then held his hand out for Brianna on the other. 

Claire nodded and they walked forward three together into the registry office with Mrs. Graham, Joe, and Gail following a few steps behind and quietly introducing themselves to one another. 

They had to wait about fifteen minutes for an officiant to become available. Then they were led from a cramped reception area through to a cramped office. 

“I apologize for the conditions,” the squat older man said as he ushered the small wedding party inside and closed the door behind them. There were several other offices in the hall whose occupants were busy conducting meetings and telephone calls that were hardly an appropriate backdrop for a wedding. “Most couples come in for the license but then have their ceremony elsewhere,” he explained. 

“I’m afraid we can’t have a church wedding,” Claire said, her apology lacking a sense of true regret. 

“Aye, I ken from yer application what the situation is. Going to be needing a special room for ceremonies such as yers before long if so many divorces are going to be granted,” the man lamented with a hint of judgement. He looked at the wedding party to find Mrs. Graham and the Abernathys glaring back at him. Jamie was preoccupied with looking down to where he held Claire’s bare left hand. She was fixing the crooked bow keeping Brianna’s hair out of her face. 

The officiant cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Now then. I’ll need the bride and groom to step forward and the rest of ye to keep behind them and bear witness,” he declared. 

The ceremony was brief. The officiant clearly hadn’t performed very many weddings. At first he skipped the bit where he was supposed to verify that Jamie and Claire were who they said but quickly realized his mistake and doubled back to start from the beginning a second time, this time with the book in hand. 

“We are now gathered here in order that I may solemnise yer marriage in the presence of these witnesses and in accordance with the law of Scotland,” he said, squinting at the page. 

Jamie and Claire held each other’s hands and smiled to each other, remembering their first wedding and how nervous they both had been; the thick cadence of the sickly priest’s voice and the quiet murmur of a dozen MacKenzies shuffling about the church. 

“I now require that you make a declaration accepting each other as husband and wife…”

They’d found many ways over the years to make that declaration, both together and while they’d been apart. They would find new ways in all the years to come and make that declaration every time. 

“I James accept you Claire as my lawful wedded wife.” His thumb rubbed along the fourth finger on her right hand where the ring he’d given her was missing. It wouldn’t reside there any more but would take a more conventional place on her left hand where Frank’s ring had been before. She was wholly his now, even with Frank alive and well, she had chosen only him. “To have and to hold from this day forward.” He would never let her go again, would cherish each and every moment he held her in his arms, took her in their bed. “For better for worse, for richer for poorer.” He was pretty sure they’d already been through the worst of it but didn’t want to tempt fate by ever saying so. “In sickness and in health.” Claire would be sure it was health. “To love and to cherish to the exclusion of all others.” Well, it had been that way since the day he’d met her. 

“I Claire accept you James as my lawful wedded husband.” A thrill passed through her as she said it. She was glad in some ways that she got to do this part again so she could say it and he would know that this time she meant it. “To have and to hold from this day forward. For better for worse.” She could feel the stiffness in the fingers of his right hand where the bones had been broken several times now. “For richer for poorer. In sickness and in health.” Alive, whether sick or healthy, so long as they were both alive there was hope. She’d been hopeless for ten years but never again with him at her side. “To love and to cherish to the exclusion of all others.” That last hadn’t been part of her vows in either of her first two weddings but it seemed so wholly appropriate now.  _ To love and cherish to the exclusion of all others _ . She hadn’t been able to do that with Frank but when it came to Jamie, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t really need to vow to do so; it wasn’t something she could control. 

Brianna stepped forward smiling and handed Jamie the ring to put on Claire’s finger. 

“I pronounce ye husband and wife,” the officiant declared shutting the book loudly. “Go on then and kiss yer bride.”

Jamie didn’t need to be told twice. 

Joe and Gail grinned at each other before Joe took his wife’s hand and raised it to his lips. Mrs. Graham smiled and clapped then brushed at tears on her cheeks. Brianna giggled. 

And when they finally broke away, Jamie pressed his forehead to Claire’s temple and whispered in her ear. “Ye’re blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.”

She smiled and whispered back. “I give you my body that we two may be one.”

“I give ye my spirit till our life shall be done,” they finished together before one more kiss

* * *

Mrs. Graham’s daughter-in-law and Fiona were waiting at Mrs. Graham’s house for the small party to return.

Dinner was just about ready and the small cake was sitting in the center of a separate table with some flowers and a handful of wrapped gifts. Joe discreetly pulled an envelope from his pocket and added it to the pile but Claire saw and scolded him. 

“Joe, you know you don’t have to––”

“LJ,” he interrupted, “just be the blushing bride and say ‘thank you.’” 

“Thank you, Joe,” she said before giving him a hug. 

“You found a good one, Claire,” Joe whispered.

“I know.” She turned back to the table. “Where did all of these come from?” 

“Ye needna act so surprised,” Mrs. Graham said with a tone of offence that was decidedly insincere. “Just because ye didna go in for a big fuss doesna mean ye get to escape all the bells and whistles. There’s a wee something in there from me and the Reverend sent something over for ye as well.”

“Mrs. Graham also helped me pick something out for you and Da, too,” Brianna said with a smile, pointing to a flat rectangular box. 

“Thank you all,” Jamie said with a red face. “Truly.”

“Why don’t we open the presents after dinner but before cake?” Claire suggested, taking Brianna by the shoulders and pointing her towards the dining room. 

“I’m on board for that,” Joe said holding his elbow out for Gail to slip her hand through and then following Mrs. Graham.

“Mama,” Brianna said quietly, holding Claire back from rejoining the rest of the party. “What do the words on your ring mean?”

“What are you talking about?” Claire asked, looking down at the ring on her finger. It felt strange wearing it on her left hand. It was heavier and broader than Frank’s gold ring had been and now the space on her right finger felt oddly naked. She examined the familiar interlace thistle pattern but there was no script she could discern. 

“Not on the outside,” Brianna clarified. “The words on the  _ inside _ . It has to do with Da.”

Claire looked over to Jamie who was waiting by the door for them. 

She slipped it off for only the second time since Jamie had put it on her finger back at Leoch when they were wed; the first had been that morning when she gave it into Brianna’s keeping for the ceremony. 

Claire had to take it to the window to read it properly and when she did her head whipped up to find Jamie watching her with a sad smile on his face. 

“Ye didna ken it was there?” he asked, crossing to her slowly. 

She shook her head. “I never took it off until this morning.”

“But what does it  _ mean _ ?” Brianna emphasized, reminding them that she was the one who’d brought the ring up in the first place. 

“It’s from a poem in Latin,” Claire explained. “ _ Da mi _ ––”

“––  _ basia mille _ ,” Jamie finished. “ _ A thousand and a hundred score. A hundred–– _ ”

“–– _ and a thousand more _ .” The tears had spilled down Claire’s cheeks as she clutched the ring tightly in her hand. Jamie took her hand and loosened her fingers till he could take the ring from her and put it on her finger for the second time that day, then he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. 

“A thousand and a hundred  _ what _ ?” Brianna asked with increased exasperation.

“Kisses,” Jamie answered, his eyes staying on Claire but his lip twitching with amusement at what Brianna’s reaction must be. 

“Oh,” she said flatly. “That’s… a lot.”

“Not really,” Claire insisted, stepping closer to Jamie and letting him slip his arms around her waist. “Not nearly enough as far as I’m concerned.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go get something to eat,” Brianna said scurrying towards the dining room. “If I can,” she added under her breath.

Jamie and Claire laughed quietly. 

“Oh it’s going to be fun living with her when she becomes a teenager,” Claire murmured. 

“It terrifies me to think our lass has grown so much already… and that I wasna there to help ye. But I promise I’ll be here for the rest of raisin’ her… and for any others we may be blessed to have.” The way he spoke the last part of that thought made it almost a question. 

Claire pressed her body flush to his, threatening the bundle of forget-me-nots that were beginning to wilt on his lapel. 

“We’ve been blessed in so many ways already,” Claire whispered, holding tight against him. “I’m almost afraid to pray for more… but I think it’s a fear you can help me overcome.”

Jamie smiled softly. “Then… you do want…”

Claire nodded. 

Jamie leaned down to kiss her but was interrupted by Mrs. Graham clearing her throat from the doorway.

“I dinna mean to be disturbin’ ye, but yer guests dinna want to be startin’ the meal without the bride and groom presidin.’” 


	33. Something Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna's at a sleepover so Jamie and Claire can have some privacy on their second wedding night.

Brianna had changed out of her fancy dress and into her nightgown while Jamie and Claire assured a skeptical Mrs. Graham they would arrive early the next day to fetch Brianna and start their journey to London. Brianna and Fiona had to interrupt their board game when Jamie and Claire made to leave.

“You don’t have to hurry in the morning,” Brianna informed them. “I want to have a _little_ time to play some more before we go.”

Mrs. Graham turned a laugh into a cough before mumbling about cleaning up and disappearing to the kitchen where she could freely indulge the suppressed impulse.

They nodded and left quickly, eager to recover from the excitement of the day and enjoy the peace and quiet of a home without children for the night.

It was strange walking up to the door of their apartment without Brianna running ahead and asking if she could use the key to open the door herself. Claire pulled the keys from her handbag and Jamie awkwardly clutched the handful of gifts they’d received.

“Wait,” Jamie said, stopping Claire as she inserted the key in the lock. “Joe said there was something I’m supposed to do with the threshold…”

Claire chuckled. “I don’t think that applies in our situation since this isn’t technically the first time we’ve been married.” She twisted the knob and pushed open the door, holding it for Jamie so he could walk straight to the table and set the small pile down.

Joe and Gail had gifted them money while Mrs. Graham had helped Brianna choose a set of picture frames that would house the photos taken outside the register’s office––several with Brianna and then a few of just the bride and groom. A matching photo album came from Mrs. Graham herself.

The gift that surprised Claire most came from Reverend Wakefield. He had found an old Fraser family tree dating back to the 18th century. Claire wondered how much the Reverend had guessed and how much Mrs. Graham––or possibly even Frank––had put into his head. The Fraser crest was proudly inked at the top of the page and several generations of the Lovat line were traced below. The Old Fox’s illegitimate son Brian was missing along with his descendants.

Jamie unrolled it to examine it more closely now that they were alone. His finger traced the empty space beside the younger Simon Fraser, the space where his father should have been.

“We can add it ourselves if you like,” Claire offered though even she was uncertain whether she was teasing or in earnest. “We can frame it and keep it in the bedroom so no one else sees it to ask questions… or scold us for doing such a thing to a valuable historical artifact.”

Jamie snorted with amusement but his attention lingered there a few more moments before he carefully rolled the parchment up again and set it aside.

“I’ve no room in my mind just now for worryin’ over such things,” he told her as he came up behind where she was freeing her hair from the combs that had been tasked with restraining it. His hands slipped to her waist and his nose disappeared in the tangle of her curls. “Since I first saw ye in this dress I’ve wanted little more than to lift yer skirts and press ye to the wall as I take ye,” he murmured in her ear. The way his Rs rolled in the low and earnest tone he used vibrated through Claire’s spine and sent goosebumps shivering across her shoulders and arms.

“Hmmm,” she purred and pressed herself against him, placed her hands over his and pulled them across her belly and downwards. “There’s no one here to worry about interrupting us just now,” she pointed out.

Jamie groaned and shook his head so that his nose brushed her throat.

“It’s certainly tempting, Sassenach… but I mean to make it last––make ye beg and cry out,” he teased. “I dinna mean for the first time on this wedding night to be over so quick as it was the first time on our last wedding night.”

Claire pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and succeeded despite catching the glint from Jamie’s eye in the mirror. “You did admirably considering the circumstances,” she said with a grin. “And you were a quick study.”

“Aye, ye were a bonnie teacher,” he agreed. “And I was fond of completing the practice ye assigned.”

“Does that make this some sort of final examination?” she laughed, turning in his hands to face him. She backed to the wall till she felt it against her spine, drawing him with her.

He frowned at his reflection in the mirror and shifted her a few inches further down the wall towards their bedroom.

“What was it ye said yer examinations were called in yer medical schooling when ye finally got to do what ye’d been reading and learning about?”

“Practicals?”

His grin was playful and sly.

“That’s the one,” he whispered just before his mouth found hers.

Jamie pressed her into the wall until his hips were flush with hers. She tried to grind against him but there was too many layers of tulle contributing to the fullness of her skirt. Jamie smiled against her lips and rocked against her in response, groaning as he received some of the friction he sought.

Claire broke off the kiss in order to concentrate on pushing Jamie’s suit jacket down his arms and onto the floor so she could work on pulling his shirt off. She hadn’t undone the top button so for a moment his collar caught on his jaw, his arms trapped halfway out of his sleeves. They both chuckled as Claire plucked the button free and Jamie finished stripping off the shirt and leaving it in a pale blue pile atop the darker blue puddle of the jacket.

Before Claire could get her hands on his belt, he spun her around and traced his finger along the line of the zipper up to the pull at the nape of her neck. He blew the loose curls away from the zipper’s teeth, mesmerized by the way the muscles in her neck shifted beneath her skin as she reflexively scrunched her shoulders at the teasing breeze.

“Of all the conveniences of yer time,” he murmured in Claire’s ear, “I think the zipper may be my favorite.” He drew the pull down slowly, the fabric peeling away from Claire’s back exposing the slippery silk of her slip and the undergarments beneath.

She took care to step gingerly out of the dress when Jamie reached the base of her spine. Tempting as it was to toss it aside too, Claire moved to drape it over the back of a chair. When she turned back to Jamie, he’d shed his pants, shoes, and socks. She laughed to see the strain in the crotch of his boxers as he eyed her with a playful glimmer.

Wide ribbons served as straps for Claire’s slip. Jamie nudged them with a single finger and watched them slide off her shoulders pulling the neckline of the slip down to reveal the lace of her brassiere. He could see where the darker skin of her nipples peeped through the lace; he noticed the way the fabric puckered as her nipples hardened. Gravity continued to work while he was distracted and soon her slip had fallen to the floor. Claire unclasped the bra and let that too slide down her arms till it fell off on its own. Jamie continued to stand staring with awe and lust in his narrowed gaze. Her fingers were at the waistband of her knickers when she felt Jamie’s hands over hers.

“Let me,” he requested coming closer. “There’re times I miss the way I could reach under yer skirts and feel ye in the palm of my hand…” He hooked a finger under the waistband at either hip and started sliding everything down. “But I must say,”––rather than bend or shove the fabric aside, he sank to his knees–– “there’s somethin’ to be said for havin’ the likes of this to peel off ye.” His nose skimmed her thigh on the way down.

Claire took a deep breath as she stepped out of her knickers and stood before Jamie completely bare. She let her head fall back and widened her stance in anticipation of his touch.

But it didn’t come. Heat rose in her cheeks as she righted her head and looked at him. He was staring at her, a soft expression suffusing his features. Her blush deepened.

“What is it?” She didn’t dare to glance down to search and criticize in attempt to discover what it might be that had caught his attention.

“Ye’re beautiful, Sassenach… Lookin’ at ye now… I realized this is the first I’ve seen ye like this since… _before_ ,” he explained.

“That can’t be right,” she countered, the tension in her body loosening. She took a step forward. “I mean… you’ve been here––we’ve been together––for a year again now.”

“But we’ve nearly always had Brianna nearby,” Jamie pointed out, “and I suppose we both kent it would be easier did she come across us were we not in so bare a state.”

She took another step towards him but he took a step back in response.

“Don’t… I want to look at ye.”

She smiled and stayed put while his eyes roamed over the dips and curves of her naked body––the slight sag of her breasts, the soft muscles of her arms and legs, the faint lines on her belly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured again.

Before he could close the distance between them, Claire put up her hand and tsked. “Not so fast. Now you. Fair is fair.” She grinned as he recognized her echo of their last wedding night.

He took a step back and eased the last of his own undergarments down. As he stepped out of them, he used his foot to brush them aside.

Claire’s eyes were immediately drawn to the length of deep scar tissue on his thigh. Her fingers recognized the uneven edges of it even if her eyes didn’t. She’d mapped the length of it in her mind, felt the pulse strong so dangerously close to where the bayonet had struck. He flexed the muscle in his thigh and the scar twitched. She raised her eyes to look at more of him. He had put on more bulk in the last year but the muscle that had come with it remained leaner than what he’d had more than a decade before. His hair had grown out more than what Brianna had made him cut it back to before but it wasn’t long enough to stand out in public; it was just long enough for the ends to curl.

She walked forward and slipped her arms under his, pressing her palms flat to the rough terrain of his bare back. It meant pressing herself against him, her breasts crushed against his chest, his cock pulsing against her abdomen.

He brushed his hand up her arm, catching her attention so she raised her head and met his kiss. Without breaking the electrifying contact between their lips, he reached down, tracing the length of her arms until he could loosen their hold on him and bring them back around, raising them to rest on his shoulders.

Claire immediately slid them further, pulled herself tighter, pressed more of herself against him. She was ready when he dropped his hands past her waist and buttocks to take hold of her thighs. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him while he carried her to their bedroom.

Each step was a sweet agony. Claire rocked her hips, rubbing herself against the length of him and hoping he would slide into her but he didn’t grind back the way she hoped. He groaned and she thought she felt a growl reverberate through his chest.

She squealed as he tossed her onto her back on the bed. Before she’d finished bouncing, Jamie’s hips were between her thighs and he was hovering over her, his weight resting on his forearms. Claire raised her hips, straining to join with him.

He chuckled and dipped his head to press a kiss to her jaw, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

“Oh, no, Sassenach,” he murmured against her pulse as he made his way down her throat. “I told ye I meant to take my time about it.”

She whined and moved to reach around him and pull him down to her but he suddenly held her wrists in each hand. It was tricky to maneuver his weight––she swore he brushed his cock against her inner thigh on purpose just to torture her––but he managed to loosely pin her arms up over her head.

“How often does a man get to have a second wedding night wi’ the same wife?” he teased.

“You’re going to pay for this,” she breathed as his nose brushed along her collarbone to her straining shoulder before tickling it’s way down her oxter and across again to her breast like he was a hound scenting a familiar path. She tried not to make a sound as his teeth grazed her nipple and his dexterous tongue began to play and tease more fervently––tried and failed.

Each gasp, each whimper, each moan, she could feel Jamie’s smile in the way his lips and tongue moved. He let go of her wrists and began to massage the unattended breast, then let the hand slip lightly down her side leaving goosebumps in its wake until it settled firmly on her hip. She left her arms above her head but turned her wrists to grab the top edge of her pillow as Jamie’s ministrations moved steadily down the slope of her belly.

She didn’t have to raise her hips for him when he burrowed his head between her legs; he tilted her pelvis with a gentle touch and then went back to work. She couldn’t breathe for fear of crying out as the damp heat of his tongue met the damp heat of her flesh. The pillow wasn’t enough for her to cling to. She released it to bring her arms down and grip the bedclothes on either side as she writhed and bucked as much as Jamie’s hold on her would allow, which wasn’t much as he’d wrapped his arms around her thighs to keep her squirming from interrupting his fun.

Claire’s efforts to keep quiet failed when she felt something slip inside her. His hair tickled her thighs and his tongue lapped at her slowly while she regained control of herself and panted, “What’re you doing?”

A second finger joined the first inside her, moving at an achingly slow pace, curling and stroking. He raised his head to look up the length of her naked body, glistening with sweat. He grinned as he licked his lips, pushing his fingers deeper until her breath caught.

“Something right, I hope,” he told her.

She could only bring herself to nod vigorously and then throw her head back in surrender. The rhythm was blissful torture, building a bubble of pressure low in her belly, pulling the muscles in her legs taut and making her toes curl. Each breath was a gasp, louder than the one before. She was on the brink and then his tongue was gone, his fingers held her open and he thrust into her hard.

“Christ!” she cried, trembling around him. Two more thrusts and she was gone, crying his name and squeezing him tight to hold him deep within, unmoving while she tried to remember how to breathe.

He lowered his forehead to hers and she could feel him shake with the effort of keeping himself in check. “The only thing better than bringing ye there,” he said with a gentle roll of his hips, “is bein’ inside ye when I do so I can feel it too.”

Claire was still panting as she registered the dragging push and pull of him setting a slow pace, moving inside her again. “It’s… your turn,” she told him, sliding her hands up his torso. She pinched one of his nipples between her finger and thumb in retaliation for the torment she’d endured.

His breath came sharply. “Oh… like that is it…”

She slipped her hands around to his back and pulled herself flush against him, arching her back and wrapping her legs tight around his hips. A finger traced the line of his spine from the nape of his neck to the crease of his straining buttocks, causing him to shiver and speed his pace. He grunted loudly as her fingernails raked his back and drove himself harder and deeper into her until she cried out again herself.

With a final exclamation and spasm from each, Jamie’s arms yielded to his weight so that he lay atop Claire, pressing her into the mattress. Their pulses continued to pound in their ears, only quieting when their panting did too. Only then did they hear the sounds of voices from the rented flat above them, the television volume having been raised without their having noticed.

Claire pressed her face into Jamie’s neck to muffle her giggles while chuckled deeply in her ear and nuzzled her hair.

“Lallybroch, aye?” he murmured.

“As soon as we can,” she agreed.

 

**END OF PART ONE**


	34. Interlude #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord John Grey must deal with the fallout after Jamie's sudden disappearance.

Major John Grey thought he’d felt panic when Fraser’s horse had reared and thrown him to the ground but he was wrong. That had only been mild fear and concern. It was clear Fraser had been injured but he’d easily gotten to his feet again and continued up the hill to the circle of stones at the crest. 

Grey could understand why Fraser wouldn’t want to ride across the former battlefield––he himself couldn’t think about the prospect without it affecting his nerves in absurd and illogical ways. Still, he failed to understand what it was that seemed to be driving Jamie toward hill and the stones. 

Could there be someone waiting for him there? Correspondence from the prison had been carefully monitored but there were always those who managed to encode more dubious messages for their recipients and if anyone had the wherewithal to accomplish such a feat, it was Jamie Fraser. But there had been nothing for Fraser  _ to _ share. He hadn’t been told what was happening to him or when until they were departing. Even the time Grey had taken to ensure Fraser would arrive at Helwater appropriately provisioned and attired wouldn’t have been enough to send a message and he’d  _ still _ refrained from sharing vital details with the prisoner. 

Yet Fraser plowed ahead up the hill with his injured hand clutched to his chest. 

Grey dismounted and hurried to follow his charge up the awkward path. 

Fraser moved with the familiarity of someone who had visited the place before. He walked straight for a tall stone that had a crack down the middle and raised both hands to press them to the uneven surface.

Grey blinked and the circle was empty. 

And he began to panic. 

His heart pounded as he followed the same path Fraser had taken to the stone. He glanced through the crack in the rock face and saw clear through to the other side. Raising his hands as Fraser had before pressing them to the stone. 

It was warm beneath his hands where the sun had caressed it. But nothing else happened and there were no signs of Fraser. 

Even as he knew it was useless, Grey began to walk around each and every stone in the circle, to look up into the branches of each scraggly tree, and down the slope of the hill in every direction as though Fraser were simply hiding or had slipped away in an attempt to escape. 

It took three circuits of the hill for Grey to finally give up the search. He went to the horses who had begun to graze a short distance from the hill. It was Fraser’s horse he approached first, taking the bridle so the horse snorted with annoyance. The creature had as much idea of where its former rider had disappeared to as Grey did but cared far less. 

Rubbing the horse’s neck and then adjusting the saddle, Grey moved slowly along the body of the animal to where Fraser’s pack rested untouched. To think of it as Fraser’s didn’t feel right. There was nothing in it that objectively belonged to the man. Grey had bought him the change of clothes that they’d agreed Fraser would save until they had neared their destination in order to better preserve them. A few provisions of food––bread, cheese, some dried apples, and a wineskin that had been refilled with water––were tucked carefully away from the clothes. There wasn’t even a proper shaving kit as it wouldn’t do for a man that was technically still a prisoner to have a razor. 

Grey had a second shaving kit in his own pack. He had planned to gift it to Fraser when they were within a day’s ride of Helwater, a mark of his changed status to a paroled man.

And something that might delicately be construed as an apology of sorts. The tentative friendship Grey had thought they shared for a brief time in Ardsmuir had been noticeably shaken for some months. It might have begun to level itself out once more but the closing of the prison and dispersal of the prisoners had given Fraser an excuse to continue to shun Grey’s admittedly meager attempts at reconciliation. It was likely a fool’s errand, Grey knew, but he couldn’t help hoping that something might be done to recapture the companionship they’d sporadically shared. There were moments when Grey was convinced the both of them had managed to forget the way the rest of the world outside the walls of the governor’s quarters saw them––prisoner and jailer, Jacobite leader and English soldier. Moments where they had just been two men––two men of  _ honor _ ––able to recognize and appreciate the other’s virtues, intellect, rationality. 

It had been surprisingly lonely in his position as governor of the prison with not just the prisoners to oversee but the other soldiers as well. There were few Grey could think of who seemed to understand the weight of such a burden, but Jamie Fraser had been one of them. 

Now it seemed Grey would never have the chance to earn back Fraser’s respect. He’d be lucky if he ever learned what exactly it was that had happened. Only the ridiculous and impossible came to mind but then, it was an impossible thing to have witnessed in the first place. 

Grey wasn’t sure what to feel about the man’s disappearance––it was too fresh and complicated for him to examine closely––but there were plenty of other pressing matters to consider.

For instance, he was due to arrive at Helwater in about a week in order to deliver a paroled Jacobite into the care of Lord Dunsany. But he couldn’t deliver a prisoner he no longer had, and even if he were to try and explain what had happened, no one would believe him. 

When it came time to decide the fate of Red Jamie at the closing of Ardsmuir, Grey had made his position on the matter loud and clear and he’d been persuasive enough to succeed in securing Lord Dunsany and Helwater for Fraser’s parole as well as ensuring he would be in charge of overseeing the matter. What if the army thought Grey had assisted in Fraser’s escape, for what other conclusion could the army arrive at when Fraser’s disappearance was discovered?

Grey moved from Fraser’s horse to his own, climbing back up into the saddle and glancing around to regain his bearings before setting off at a much faster clip than before. Fraser’s horse followed out of habit for a while but trailed off without a rider of his own to reinforce pace or direction. Grey left the horse to his own devices. He couldn’t take the necessary time. He needed to get to Hal. If he was correct, Hal should still be stationed in Edinburgh, which should leave Grey with enough time to get there and enlist Hal’s advice and influence before the army caught wind that he had failed to arrive at Helwater with Fraser. 

When the city came into view, Grey pulled up on the reins and slowed the horse. He found a copse of trees out of the way and changed out of his vibrant red uniform, stowing it in Fraser’s meager pack and donning the vanished man’s too-big clothes instead. His accent would call enough attention to himself; he didn’t need his uniform adding to the situation. Once inside the city, Grey kept his eyes and ears open until he found an urchin willing to carry a note through the streets to the several establishments Hal was likely to be found. Then Grey wandered to a tavern he knew of but hadn’t patronized before and holed up at a corner table with a mug of ale to wait for his brother. 

Several hours passed before Hal arrived. Grey was on his third mug of ale and his foot was beginning to fidget as he contemplated abandoning his seat to relieve himself. Hal must have gone back to his rooms for he too was in plain clothes rather than his uniform. 

It took him a moment to catch Grey’s eye. As soon as he did, Grey lifted his mug to drain the last of its contents then rose from his seat and motioned to the man behind the bar who pointed him to a door at the back of the room. 

The alley round back was filthy and Grey was finished and rebuttoning his fly when Hal finally made around the side of the building to meet him. 

“What in heaven’s name are you doing in Edinburgh? I thought you were supposed to be headed to Helwater?” Hal hissed. 

Grey looked back over his shoulder at the door back into the tavern but it remained shut. 

“I was and I feel foolish telling you this because no one in their right mind would believe it but I need you to set that aside and simply promise to help me, no matter how absurd my tale may seem,” Grey said quickly, his brother’s brow tightening skeptically each time Grey paused for breath. 

“Go on…” Hal nodded.

“The prisoner I was escorting to Helwater––Jamie Fraser… He’s vanished.”

“He escaped?”

“I’m not sure what he did. We were passing a hill with a circle of pagan stones at the crest and Fraser rode toward it. The horse threw him, he got back on his feet, ran to the top, touched a stone and vanished,” Grey explained quickly. “I saw him go––one moment there, the next he was gone. I searched the whole of the hill and there’s no trace of him.”

Hal blinked and took a deep breath as though about to speak but then shut his mouth again with a puzzled frown. 

“Precisely. What happened and where he’s gone is of less concern to me than the fact that he won’t be arriving at Helwater as I was charged with ensuring he did.”

“You might be forgiven misplacing some provisions but not a prisoner in your charge.” 

Grey rolled his eyes but refrained from any other outward demonstration of his exasperation. 

Hal’s eyes narrowed. “Fraser was thrown from his horse, you say? Well there it is. Something spooked the beast and when he was thrown, Fraser was fatally injured.”

“There’s the small matter of not having a body to produce if that were the case,” Grey objected, his blood running cold at the thought of Fraser lying dead somewhere, his body slack with limbs and neck bent at unnatural angles. 

“If there were nothing to be done and no military posting near enough you might simply bury the man yourself. It will raise eyebrows and there will be rumors but it might be managed. I will help you find someone who will help with the unsavory aspects. You will need to write a convincing report and will request a transfer––to the continent perhaps––until the talk dies down,” Hal reasoned through his plan, nodding and tilting his head as he worked his way through hypothetical obstacles. “If Fraser is truly gone without a trace as you say, then he won’t be turning up to contradict your story any time soon. And if you were mistaken and he was simply in hiding…” 

Grey ground his teeth though he saw no malice or reproach in his brother’s expression. Hal wasn’t even looking at him but was rather still staring at the invisible problem before him examining how and where the pieces fit together. 

“If Fraser managed to pull something like that off, he’s smart enough not to be caught a second time. You’ll be able to contain this enough to survive it in the end,” Hal finally concluded. “You take some time to yourself and then wait near the city gate. I’ll meet you there about dusk. For now… I need to see a man about a body.”

* * *

Days later Grey found himself finally alone in his barracks with the fog of all that had happened still clouding his mind. Images and impressions sharpened from time to time––the pain in his back and arms as he forced the shovel into the rocky terrain, the sickening smell of decomposition, the weight of the body as some man Hal knew helped to reinter the substituted deceased who’d been unceremoniously plucked from his initial resting place.

He lay in bed staring up at the ceiling unable to fall asleep. There was something he had to do––something he was dreading––but it must be done. He had already recorded his account of events and submitted it to his superiors. There would be a brief inquiry but Hal’s quick thinking and influence would work together to keep Grey’s record intact. It was only a matter of time before orders for reassignment came down and this last thing needed to be done first. 

He slipped out of bed and crossed to the small, utilitarian desk, leaning against the back of the chair in the dark. He wouldn’t be able to see until he lit a candle, but lighting the candle would mean staring at the blank sheet of paper and the quill with the ink hardened to a slick black on the tip, the necessary lies unwritten.

More of the fog slipped away leaving Grey with the horrid remembrances of what he’d done. 

Hal had been waiting for him near the outskirts of Edinburgh and as soon as he saw his brother, the flood of instructions began to engulf him. 

“You are listening, aren’t you?” Hal asked half a dozen times while Grey refused to look at him, instead searching for the man who would approach them in possession of a body. 

“My neck’s on the line,” Grey pointed out to his brother. “Of course I’m listening.”

Hal suddenly stiffened next to him and Grey turned to see a man far leaner than he’d expected driving a cart that looked like it was piled full of manure. 

“Oh god,” Grey muttered leaving the transaction to Hal. 

Grey paced back and forth across his room to quell the queasiness that had surged in his gut with the memory. The smell of the manure had only covered the stench of the body for a few miles. It wasn’t until they were safely away from the city that Grey and the man spoke at all. Grey gave away as little information about himself as possible while the other man proved surprisingly talkative given the illicit nature of his confessions––but under the circumstances, perhaps he was right not to consider Grey too great a threat to his livelihood. 

“The medicine men there are always lookin’ for fresh bodies to do things to,” he explained. “It’s no difficult to find what they’re after if ye ken where to look. Trick’s to find ones as won’t be missed. The prison yard where they plant those as ‘ave been…” and he dragged a finger across his neck, laughing at Grey’s discomfort. “Had to get one o’ them for ye given the other one’s request. Need to be one as looks like he’s tumbled from a horse,” he started counting off on his fingers. “Red hair and big if I could find both. This’n was hanged just yesterday. Fairer haired than true red but wi’ dirt and muck it’s no so noticeable and there’s none as’ll want to get close enough to tell.”

Grey rode his horse off to the side of the path to be sick as the other man kept laughing. 

Striding back to the desk, Grey grabbed a tapper and brought it to the glowing embers. It caught quickly and the burning scent helped to drive the phantom odor of horseshit and putrefaction from his memory. He lit the candle on the desk and opened the inkwell adding that clean odor to the air as well. 

The procurer of the corpse worked to extract the body from the mountain of manure while Grey began digging the grave near the base of the hill where Fraser had vanished. 

“That’s deep enough,” the man remarked, shoving the body into the hole before Grey had fully pulled himself free. 

Despite having gravity to assist with filling in the grave, it took Grey longer, exhaustion and fast-approaching relief taking their toll. He parted from Hal’s associate with a nod; as before, he had left Grey to manage the grave on his own. 

Now he needed to write to Jamie Fraser’s family to inform them of his death and the circumstance, preferably in such a way that the family accepted the news without making a fuss––the army would make enough of a fuss in its own way. He remembered the sparse bits and pieces that Fraser had let drop about his family––his sister, her husband, and several children all relatively young. How was he supposed to lie to them like this? Grey had written letters to the families of men under his command who had died before… but this couldn’t be more different.

He pulled the chair out and sat watching the light shift across the page as the candle’s flame flickered.

Grey had hesitated to leave when the work was done. The grave needed to be marked should the army investigate but he couldn’t bring himself to put Fraser’s name to anything when the bones in the soil belonged to another. He settled for fashioning the broken pieces of two thick branches into a crude cross and staking it in the ground. 

He thought back to the shadow that cross had cast on the grass as the sun moved through the sky, tracing its path as though it would spell out the truth of where Jamie Fraser had gone when he disappeared. 

Fraser must be dead. Whatever it was that had happened, the result could only be that Fraser was dead. And perhaps that’s what Fraser wanted. He had been undeniably haunted by something in Ardsmuir and Grey didn’t think it was the loss of his cause, but rather the loss of his wife at the heart of it. If Fraser believed dying was the only way he would be reunited with his wife… 

Grey hoped Fraser was finally at peace and that hope  _ wasn’t _ a lie. He held to that thought as he picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink. 


	35. Staying Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their family honeymoon in London, the Frasers find a surprise at the National Portrait Gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Start of Part Two

Claire carefully watched Jamie as he let Brianna pull him along the platform to stand and wait for the underground. He glanced over at her nervously and she offered him a smile of encouragement. After Brianna had fallen asleep the night before, glorying in having one of the two small hotel-room beds entirely to herself, Claire had gone over every detail of the metro system from what she understood of how the trains worked to the stops they would pass before they needed to disembark. Despite her lessons, he was nervous and didn’t appreciate how much that fact amused her. 

“Not amusing,” she’d told him, pulling his arms tighter around her as they lay in the dark listening to Brianna’s deep breathing. “Charming. I remember telling you about all of this and I never dreamed you’d get to see it for yourself one day. Now you’ve been here over a year and it’s nice to know there are still things about this time that surprise you, even when I’ve already told you about them.”

Jamie had nipped at her neck then and she’d turned her face into the pillow to stifle her giggle. 

“Charing Cross,” she overheard him murmuring over and over to himself as the light of an oncoming train filled the tunnel at one end. He stopped when the engine barreled into sight and the brakes screeched. His eyes went wide and she watched him swallow uncomfortably. Brianna was bouncing with excitement and failed to notice. As soon as the doors to the train opened, Brianna was pulling him forward to board. 

There was a moment after the doors closed, just as the train began to move when Jamie’s face went green and Claire feared he might vomit on the spot, but he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held himself together. His relief when the train stopped––and when it finally stopped at Charing Cross in particular––made Claire press her lips together in a thin line to keep from doing or saying anything she’d regret. Brianna chattered the entire ride––telling him about the subway system in Boston and the times she’d been to the Museum of Fine Arts––completely oblivious to her father’s discomfort. 

“How far did ye say it was to walk, Sassenach?” Jamie asked quietly as they mounted the stairs that would let them escape into the relatively open sidewalk. 

She chuckled as she looped her arm through his and pressed herself into his side while they waited for the traffic to pause and let them across. 

“It’s…  _ grand _ ,” Jamie murmured looking at the tall buildings that lined the street, the multitude of motor vehicles moving in that quasi-coordinated dance comprised of rules of the road and common courtesy, the teeming crowd that similarly flowed together in predictable and practiced patterns. 

“I haven’t seen much of London since the war ended,” Claire confessed soaking in the city around her with almost as much hunger and awe as Jamie. There were a few places where she thought she could see the city’s scar tissue, the impressions of areas partially demolished in the Blitz that had been repaired since. 

Brianna glanced around quickly but pulled her parents from their visual feasting, her attention and excitement largely reserved for their destination. 

“Please, please, please, please, pleeeeease,” she’d started begging as soon as they’d decided they would honeymoon in London. “You promised when we went to Edinburgh.”

Jamie had laughed and looked to Claire. “I dinna recall ever saying ‘no’ to it, do you?” he asked Claire.

She shook her head as Brianna squealed with delight and dropped her spoon into her bowl of oatmeal so she could run over and throw her arms around Jamie. He held her tight still chuckling and blushing as he looked at Claire. It never failed to affect him when Brianna behaved in such a way. 

The delight she’d shown weeks earlier hadn’t faded and the closer they got to the National Portrait Gallery, the more impatient she got. 

“Come on, come on, come oooooonnnn,” she pleaded as she turned to see her parents were a dozen paces behind her and moving half as fast as was acceptable. 

“The more ye grumble,  _ mo nighean ruaidh _ , the slower we’re goin’ to go,” Jamie warned her making a point to shorten his stride. 

Brianna glared at him before turning around and stomping off. 

“Not more than three car lengths ahead please!” Claire called before stifling a laugh. “Good lord. I’d forgotten how she can get when she’s so close to getting what she’s been waiting for like this.”

“Hmmm. I understand the frustration,” Jamie said. “To be so close but no there yet. I ken we were truly already wed this time but waiting for it this time when we’d set the date… If the sun would ha’ listened to me I’d have done just as Bree’s doin’ now. Makes me grateful we’d so little time to worry over the wedding the first time.”

“Really?” Claire was surprised. He had seemed so calm during the weeks they waited for her divorce with Frank to be finalized and then planning their small civil ceremony. The mountains of bureaucratic paperwork had been their main delay. 

“Aye… but soon as she gets there she’ll slow down and savor it,” he told Claire, stopping and turning to her on the sidewalk to first kiss her forehead and then lift her chin with his forefinger so he could kiss her properly. It was wonderful to kiss his wife unabashedly again and without regard for where they were. He’d been shocked at anxious the prospect of their second wedding made him in those weeks leading up to it. But the satisfaction and relief of knowing that in the eyes of the law and of God, they were man and wife… wherever they might find themselves in terms of Time. 

Jamie was right. As soon as they made it through the doors and into the first gallery, Brianna stopped and stared. Jamie and Claire looked at it for a while and read the placard about the portrait’s subject, history, and how it came into the museum’s collection before finally turning their attention to Brianna and watching her. 

She read the brush strokes, the colors and where they mixed and swirled; she read the light captured in the subject’s eyes and the attitude in the creases around his mouth; she read the angle of his head and the way he held his shoulders and hands, the way his clothes draped and fell. 

“Ye’re goin’ to need to move a little faster’n that if ye hope to see a fraction of the paintings,  _ a nighean _ ,” Jamie whispered to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently guided her a few feet further on to the next portrait on the wall where she began her observations afresh. 

Claire and Jamie bent their heads, whispering and giggling to one another behind the museum’s brochure. They weren’t in a rush and even as their conversation ebbed and flowed, they were content to stand in silence while holding hands or leaning into one another. 

It took nearly an hour to make it through the first hall but Brianna seemed to have perfected her technique for examining and appreciating the paintings so she was moving a little faster. Another two hours and Jamie excused himself to use the washroom, pressing a kiss to Claire’s temple and borrowing the brochure with its map to find his way. 

Claire continued to observe Brianna more than the paintings as they made their way through the gallery. The girl’s hands twitched now and again, miming the movements, the twist of the wrist the would be necessary to achieve such a cleanly arched eyebrow; the light touch that would leave only the faintest blush on a cheek; the sharp slash of the light pouring through a window in the background and banishing the shadows.

Claire smiled. Perhaps she might give her old anatomy textbooks to Brianna. She hadn’t been able to part with them when she left Boston, telling herself they were a useful reference despite the advancements in the field that were quickly rendering them outdated. Brianna had long ago shown she had no constitution for medicine and even less interest. But Claire very much liked the idea of anatomy and what it could lend to a girl interested in art and portraiture becoming a bridge of common interest between her and her daughter. 

They reached the end of the gallery, Claire firmly decided that she would try to locate the box with those textbooks when they returned home to Inverness. 

“Where’s Da?” Brianna asked, looking back the way they came and peeking down the length of the next gallery trying to spot him. 

“He went to the washroom,” Claire reminded her. 

“That was a while ago,” Brianna frowned. “We weren’t even halfway through the room.”

Claire looked at her watch. It had been nearly half an hour. She glanced around until she spotted a couple poring over their brochure deciding which gallery to investigate next. 

“Excuse me,” Claire said as she made a beeline for them. “Do you mind if I take a look at that? I need to find the nearest washroom.”

“The ladies’ is back through that way and to the left,” the woman pointed with a smile.

“Not the ladies’. I need to find the men’s,” Claire explained, watching the woman’s smile freeze awkwardly. “Looking to meet up with my husband. He forgot to leave us the map when he went.”

“It’s… down this hall and on the right,” the man responded after a quick look at the map.

They saw the empty hallway outside the door to the men’s even before they’d reached it. 

“Well, he can’t have gotten too far,” Brianna muttered. 

Claire marched up to the door and pushed it open a crack.

“Mom!” she hissed, her face turning red but quickly disappearing behind the curtain of her hair as she desperately stared at the floor. 

“Jamie?” Claire called into the washroom and waited for a response. 

“This is the men’s!” came back at her. She waited a moment longer before letting the door swing closed. 

“He’ll likely be in one of the galleries down here,” Claire said, reaching for Brianna’s hand but finding her daughter was already several steps ahead of her glancing into the gaping halls. Claire scanned the galleries on the other side of the hall. 

“There he is! Da!” Brianna exclaimed, rushing into the room to where Jamie stood with his eyes fixed on the wall. He didn’t look away when Brianna called, which surprised her and slowed her down. “Da? Are you all right?” The tracks of tears were visible on his cheeks.

When Jamie finally looked away from the portrait on the wall, it wasn’t to Brianna but to Claire. She was staring gape-mouthed at a series of paintings she’d seen many times before.

“Mama, you have a necklace just like that,” Brianna remarked, pointing. 

Ellen MacKenzie Fraser stared down at them from her self-portrait. On either side of her were the portraits she’d done of her children––Jenny with her birds to her right and Jamie as a toddler with his older brother Willie and their dogs to her left. 

Claire had seen the portraits several hundred times at Lallybroch but they’d been displayed in different areas of the house, never all clustered together like this. And all those times had been before Brianna’s birth. It was incredible to see just how prominent the family resemblance was. Jamie couldn’t have been more than three or four in the painting with Willie. She had photographs of Brianna standing in her Christmas pajamas, leaning against her leg in just that way with the same round-cheeked expression on her face. 

Brianna stepped forward to read the placard that accompanied the trio of paintings and Claire slipped her arm around Jamie’s waist, giving him something to anchor himself to as he struggled to normalize his breathing. 

“ _ Woman with Pearls _ ,  _ Girl with Birds _ , and  _ Two Boys with Their Dogs _ are the work of an unknown artist possibly from Scotland given the figures Highland Scots dress and what little is known of the works’ history,” Brianna read aloud quietly. “From the subjects and style, these paintings likely date to the early 18th century. They are currently on loan from the private collection of R. Masters.”

“Are you all right?” Claire whispered to Jamie, rubbing her hand up and down his back. 

He nodded but still couldn’t find the words to speak. 

Brianna looked at them over her shoulder but refrained from commenting directly on her father’s emotional reaction. 

“If they’re from Scotland, could they be related to you Da?”

“They are,” Jamie finally spoke. 

“How can you be sure?” Brianna’s brow furrowed, eager to believe but skeptical nonetheless. 

“The necklace yer mam has is the same one in the portrait,” Jamie told her. “It’s a family heirloom. My mam got it when she wed my father. After she passed and I had grown, he gave it to me for my wife and I gave it to yer mam… a long time ago.”

Brianna examined the portraits some more. “I guess they kind of look like you,” she finally said with a nod. “But how can you be sure? Maybe there’s another family with necklace like that.”

“These paintings hung in the house where I grew up. They’re yer forebears,” he assured her. 

“Then how’d they get here?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie confessed with a sad smile. 

They stood quietly staring up at the portraits for a few minutes longer, Claire tucked into Jamie’s side while Brianna stood a little closer, her eyes unwittingly taking in the details of her grandmother’s quiet poise, her aunt’s gentle touch, her uncle’s protective stance. 

“Maybe we can ask someone about Mr. Masters,” she suggested, pointing to the placard. “He might be able to tell you how he got them. And maybe he’d sell them back to you.”

“That’s a lovely idea, Bree,” Claire smiled at her daughter.

“I’d like to ken how they got here,” Jamie agreed, “but I like that they’re together like this. I dinna think the man would likely wish to part wi’ all three and we’d no be able to afford them in any case. Better to know there’s many as can see them and appreciate them here together.” 

Brianna sighed with resignation. “I guess it’s better they stay together than get separated,” she conceded. “And we don’t have room for them anyway.”

“You’ll just have to paint a few masterpieces of your own for our walls,” Claire encouraged. “Then you can be sure they’re the right size.”

“Maybe,” Brianna shrugged, finally moving further into the gallery. 

Their wanderings were less enthusiastic after that, even Brianna’s. As they started winding their way back towards the entrance, Brianna urged her parents over to an information desk so she could ask about R. Masters and if it might be possible to get his full name and address so they could ask him more about the paintings he’d loaned the museum. 

“I’m afraid we can’t give that information out,” the woman behind the desk informed an obviously disappointed Brianna. “But… if you want to write a note, I can ask one of our curators about passing it along. I can’t promise he’ll get it or that he’ll contact you, but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” She smiled at Brianna and searched through the drawers till she found a pen and paper. 

Brianna thanked the woman and went to a bench where Jamie and Claire helped her compose a message. 

“Do you know which of your ancestors it might be?” Brianna asked, looking up at Jamie. “If I can tell him what we know, maybe he’ll be more willing to tell us what he knows in return,” she reasoned.

“The red-haired woman was called Ellen. Ellen MacKenzie Fraser,” he said with a slight catch in his voice.

“Like Grannie Ellen,” Brianna remarked, still intently scribbling her note.

“Aye, just like Grannie Ellen.”

In a few minutes, Brianna had finished her task––clarifying both the apartment’s address and their telephone number in case Mr. Masters did decide to make contact––then she turned it to the woman at the information desk who set it aside with a second note pinned to it for the curator. 

“I wish there was a way to make sure he got it,” Brianna lamented as they made their way along the street searching for somewhere the grab a late lunch. 

“It isn’t likely he’ll respond right away if he does,” Claire reminded her. “So you won’t know for certain one way or another for a few weeks yet. At least for the rest of this week you’ll be too busy around the city to worry about it.”

“If he doesn’t call or write in the next month, maybe Daddy can help,” Brianna suggested. “He knows museum people. Maybe he can find out about Mr. Masters for us.”


	36. A Postcard from London and a Phone Call to Edinburgh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank secures a post at the University of Edinburgh to be closer to Brianna.

_ We went to the National Portrait Gallery this morning and found some paintings that Da says hanged in his house when he was little. I’m going to try finding the man who is letting the museum borrow them but I might need your help. I can’t wait to visit you in Edinburgh. Love, Bree _

Frank looked at the mark on the postcard. They were probably on their way back from London by now. He needed to make sure the phone was connected in the next day or two so he could call Brianna and give her his report of his new flat and new post at University of Edinburgh. 

His colleagues at Harvard had been sympathetic the previous school year as he dealt with the divorce and Claire having taken Brianna all the way to Scotland. But they hadn’t expected him to resign and relocate to Scotland himself. It had been easy to reach out to his contacts at a variety of universities in Scotland seeking a post. Though he knew that his situation had likely been gossiped about and word would have gotten back to those contacts through colleagues, he made sure to frame his appeals in terms of his academic research. Being a leading expert on the Jacobites and the ‘45 rising, it made sense that he position himself somewhere nearer the records and archives upon which his work depended. The University of Edinburgh was farther from Inverness than he would like but it was closer than Cambridge or Oxford. He had left Boston just two weeks after the end of term and Reg Wakefield had invited him to stay at the manse whenever necessary and store his things in the shed until he found a suitable flat or house nearer the university. 

His housing search, meeting his new colleagues, and familiarizing himself with a new city and campus had served as a distraction from the fact that Claire and Jamie Fraser were getting married––quietly, thank heaven, though it wasn’t as though either of them had family who could attend… none other than Brianna. And they had taken her with them on their little honeymoon, too. He hadn’t felt it appropriate to offer––not so soon after the divorce had been finalized––but he had hoped that they might ask if he would be interested in watching Brianna while they were gone. He knew there wasn’t much he could have done to keep her occupied with everything to settle from his move. He knew it was for the best. But it had been so long since he’d spent any real time with her––a few hours at Christmas, less just after the divorce and custody hearing. 

If there was a silver lining it was that they were both on break for the summer. Once he had finished settling in, he should be able to steal away to Inverness for a week and could possibly take her around to some of the local sites… Though as she was a local now, it might need wind up the other way round. He would think of something. 

In the meantime, he went back to unpacking his things and arranging his new rooms. 

It was eerie to be doing this all again. The last time he’d properly lived on his own was after Claire had disappeared. They’d secured housing near Oxford but hadn’t moved in––Claire was going to work on that while he’d prepared for his first classes. Except she hadn’t been there to do so and he had started off his teaching career with an extended leave of absence while the search for her progressed and then stalled and was then abandoned altogether. It had fallen to him to purchase and arrange furnishings as he saw fit. 

He recalled wandering through a furniture shop for three hours, unable to picture any of them in a flat that was now twice as large as he needed––unable to envision any of them in that space in part because he kept hearing an echo of Claire’s voice just behind him, “It looks dreadful. No character to it whatsoever. Screams of being factory manufactured.” She had done such things all the time, once––come up behind him and rest her chin on his shoulder so she could peer over and see what he was looking at, whispering her opinions so only he could hear them. 

It was something he had missed in those first few years after her return. She’d offered little in the way of commentary as they’d bought and furnished the house in Boston. And yet, when she’d left with Brianna, everything in the house––the angle of the sofa in the sitting room, where her desk had been positioned in the corner, the organization of the dishes in the cabinet and flatware in the drawer––all spoke to how her mind worked and her practical tastes. Just over nine months he lived in that house on his own and yet he had never quite been able to shake the feeling that she and Brianna might walk back through the front door at any time or that he would stroll into the kitchen to see them waiting at the table with dinner spread before them. 

Frank left most of the boxes on the floor in the sitting room and wandered about the space that was entirely his to mold. Two bedrooms––one for him, one for Brianna––and a single bathroom upstairs, a kitchen, dining area, sitting room, and half-bathroom downstairs. Long and narrow with small windows at the front and the back that didn’t let in nearly enough light. The sitting room would need to function as his study for the time being. The second bedroom was more practical, but he had promised himself he would set aside a space for Brianna. 

He started there, carrying the boxes labeled, “Bree” upstairs and setting them down so she could help him unpack and decorate her room whenever she finally came for a visit. 

* * *

Claire watched as Brianna referred to the piece of paper with Frank’s telephone number on it then picked up the receiver and dialed. Sausages sizzled in the frying pan in front of her, the spatula in her hand rolling them regularly so they wouldn’t burn in her absorption as she monitored the phone call from a distance. Potatoes were baking in the oven and she’d already cut up assorted vegetables to Jamie and Brianna to pick through, neither of them fond of eating them mixed together in a proper salad.

“Daddy!” Brianna cried into the phone when Frank answered. Claire wished she could hear his side of the conversation but she refused to sneak away to the other line in the bedroom and listen in knowing how petty and silly it would be. 

“We got back last night and I got to go to the farm with Da today. Mr. MacDonald is going to pay me for helping with the horses,” Brianna explained excitedly. 

Claire smiled. Jamie had arranged it with Ewan. Brianna’s “pay” would simply come out of Jamie’s paycheck. It was easier for Jamie to bring her with him to work during her summer holidays than to find someone to watch her and Brianna was thrilled to spend more time with Thistle. 

“I got to really ride her, not just walk her, but push her to a trot. She’s gotten much bigger than she was before and she likes it when I brush and braid her mane but she won’t stand still if Da tries to do it. Only for me.”

Jamie emerged from the bathroom, his hair dark and wet from the shower. He frowned at Claire, his eyes darting to Brianna on the phone. She mouthed back, “Frank,” and Jamie closed his eyes and nodded but not before she saw his eyes briefly roll.

“You are?” Brianna exclaimed. “When? Let me go get my calendar!” She set the receiver on the table and ran to her bedroom. 

Jamie came to stand behind Claire and reached a hand toward the pan. She swatted him with the spatula. He shook his hand and frowned at her again. 

“You’ll burn yourself,” she scolded reaching for a fork. 

“At least I’d have the consolation of food,” he muttered examining the back of his hand. “And ye’ve burned me with the hot grease anyhow.”

Brianna came running back to the phone with her monthly planner and a pen to pick up the phone again. “When are you coming?” 

Claire handed the spatula to Jamie whose lips had pressed into a line. Brianna was scribbling on the page when Claire tapped her on the shoulder and resignation washed over her face. 

“Mama wants to talk to you,” she said with a note of warning in her voice. 

“Frank?” Claire said into the receiver.

“Hello, Claire.” His voice was equally unenthusiastic. 

Brianna remained standing next to Claire carefully observing and probably listening to hear what she might of Frank’s responses. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing Brianna mention something about you coming to visit at some point…”

“It’s not exactly a visit,” he hedged. “Some colleagues of mine are involved in a project to found a new college in Inverness. They’re looking to open officially next year but they’ll need to generate public interest for enrollment. I’ve been asked if I will give a series of lectures at the library this summer––the different contributing circumstances that lead to the ‘45 with gratuitous mentions of the Bonnie Prince. I’ve already spoken with Reg and he’s offered to put me up when I’m in town.”

“So you won’t be here for the whole summer, just when you’re giving these lectures?” Claire held her breath for a moment.

“Correct. I will need to conduct my research in Edinburgh and continue to prepare for the new term. I was just giving Bree the information on my schedule. I’m not about to show up on your doorstep unannounced, Claire, but if I’m going to be in town anyway I would like to see her.”

“Of course. I’ll go over the dates with Bree and Jamie to see that we work some time in for the two of you.”

“Thank you, Claire.” There was a grain of reluctant gratitude in his voice. “May I speak to Bree again?”

Claire held the phone out for Brianna who snatched it back. 

“What’s the first day?”

Claire returned to the stove and turned off the heat. 

“This is how it’s goin’ to be now, isn’t it?” Jamie whispered giving her the spatula while he reached for a serving plate. She lifted the sausages out of the pan carefully. 

“He moved all the way from Boston to be nearer to her,” Claire reminded him.

“Aye, but did he travel two hundred years?” Jamie countered, a smile in his eyes. 

“It’s not a competition,” she teased back, the weight of the unexpected news lifting. Brianna continued chattering to Frank in the background shifting topics from his upcoming visit to everything she’d seen in London.

“Mama took us to where her Uncle Lamb was buried and we left flowers though Mama said it would be more appropriate to leave him a jar of dirt or a flask of his favorite whisky.”

“Bree, you need to start wrapping up the conversation,” Claire announced with a raised voice so Frank would hear on the other end. “Supper is ready and you need to wash up before you come to the table.”


	37. A Greater Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna has some questions about the future for Jamie now that he and Claire are married and Frank has moved to Scotland.

“Ye need to stop now, Bree. It’s time ye had yer lunch,” Jamie called from the fence at the edge of the paddock, the final word sounding and feeling odd in his mouth but, it was what Brianna called it. 

Claire packed the meal for them when she had the time and remembered though he and Brianna were developing a routine of their own in the mornings as they prepared to head to the farm for the day. Making sandwiches and packing other snacks together had easily been integrated. She would fetch the ingredients and instruct him in their proper assemblage most of the time, since he proved less familiar with both. 

Brianna walked Thistle over to the fence. Jamie had the small basket they used––since it held more than the aluminum box Brianna used for school––balanced on the top rail. She pulled gently on the reins and Thistle stopped with a snort. It had only been a week Jamie had let her ride on her own without insisting on riding beside her or otherwise monitoring her every move. She wasn’t allowed to go faster than a trot yet but had largely mastered the canter with Jamie’s supervision. 

“Once more round,” Brianna begged. “I want to make it a full fifteen circuits. Make sure she’s well exercised.”

“Ye have two others to exercise after ye eat,” he reminded her. “Ye’re no getting paid for the work ye do wi’ Thistle.”

“Once more and I’ll give her the rest of the day off,” Brianna pressed. 

“I’ll see ye keep yer word,” he insisted, trying to look stern. The pleasure and triumph in Brianna’s face as she urged Thistle forward again wiped away whatever authority Jamie hoped to convey. Brianna was becoming a capable horsewoman all too quickly. How long would it be before she didn’t need him to instruct her? What else could he hope to teach her in a world where so little of the skills he knew remained relevant?

She made her way around the paddock in good time keeping Thistle in a steady and technically strong trot. With a reluctant sigh, she led her to the mounting block and reined in before gracefully swinging her leg over and dismounting. Thistle was more than happy to return to her stall where her midday snack was waiting for her. Jamie refilled the other horses’ water buckets and made sure no one was stealing anyone else’s hay while Brianna finished getting Thistle brushed and settled.

By the time they walked out of the barn and over to the table and benches, both their stomachs were rumbling with hunger. 

“I might have to consider lettin’ ye canter on yer own if only so ye’ll finish sooner and I’ll no have to wait so long to eat,” Jamie suggested lightly, thrilling quietly at the joy and pride that spread across Brianna’s face at the prospect. “No just yet, mind. I’ll have to talk it over wi’ yer mam and she’ll want to watch ye at it to see if  _ she _ thinks ye’re ready––and whether she trusts Thistle enough no to toss ye when the two of ye disagree.”

“Maybe she can come and watch me when Daddy comes to visit,” Brianna replied with enough forced nonchalance that Jamie glanced over to see if she was shrugging too. “I want him to see Thistle and I want him to see me ride too. And…” She stopped abruptly, flushing with self-consciousness. 

“What  _ a nighean _ ?” Jamie pressed gently. 

“It’s just… I know you and Daddy don’t like to be around each other much. I thought that if Mama was there too… it wouldn’t bother you so much… or Daddy.” Brianna stared past Jamie, looking to the empty paddock beyond. 

“Bree…” Jamie sighed. He couldn’t deny it and he wouldn’t patronize her by trying. “I think ye’re right. If ye want Frank to come and see ye, I think it would be easier for all of us if yer mam was here too. But… ye do know  _ why _ it is that he and I dinna like to be around on another? Or at least… the main reason…”

Brianna looked over at him finally but didn’t volunteer whatever her impressions of the relationship between the two men who were her father. 

“It makes me sad to be around him––and angry––especially when ye’re there because I know he remembers what ye looked like the day ye were born and how it felt to hold ye when ye were small enough to fit just there in his arms. And what it was like to tuck ye back into bed when ye woke in the night with a storm. There’s much he’s shared with ye that I wish I could have had and that I never can get back,” Jamie answered simply. “I’m glad ye had it with someone and that  _ you _ werena missing those things… but it makes me sad––and a wee bit angry––that they’re no mine.”

“And Daddy gets sad and mad… because Mama picked you. Because she stopped loving him and loves you instead,” Brianna guessed, her voice heavy with a sorrow of her own. 

“I think that’s part of it… but mostly I think he misses ye and having me there means he canna put from his mind the fact that you live with me and yer mam… that  _ he _ canna see ye every day anymore and that there’s things now that you and I share that  _ he’ll _ no be part of. So in many ways it’s the same sorrow and anger… and just now, neither of us is ready to set them aside.”

“But someday you might?” 

“I’ve kent stranger things to happen,” Jamie smiled. 

His answer seemed to satisfy Brianna enough for her to reach for the basket and finally pull out their sandwiches along with the rest of their meal. 

“Why is it easier for you and Daddy to get along when Mama’s there?” Brianna asked. “Is it cause you don’t want to upset her?”

Jamie chuckled. “Not exactly, though no, I wouldna want her upset that way––nor  _ you _ . I canna explain it rightly. Havin’ yer mother nearby just… calms me–– _ most _ of the time. She’s a compass that helps me find my way back to myself when I start to wander and get lost.”

Brianna narrowed her eyes at him, skeptically.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It will someday when ye find yerself in love. There’s many things ye’ll find ye’re no sure are real or that dinna make sense until the day ye blink and suddenly they do.”

“Like in school when the teacher shows you had to do the maths problem on the board,” she agreed. 

“Just like that,” Jamie confirmed, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Now that you and Mama are married, are we going to stay at the flat or are we going to get a real house?” Brianna asked just as Jamie took a large bite. She grinned as he struggled to chew and swallow at the same time then took a delicate bite from the edge of her own sandwich.

“Well…” Jamie murmured with some of his food still in his cheek. “We’ll be wanting a certain kind of house wi’ a bit of land to it.”

“For Thistle, right?” Brianna prodded. “You said we’d only board her here until we had a place for her ourselves.”

“Aye, a farm preferably.” 

“Have you asked Mr. MacDonald? He might know where you can find a house like that in Inverness. He’d know other farmers,” Brianna reasoned. 

Jamie took a deep breath and set his sandwich aside to focus on Brianna. “I’m sure ye’re right about Mr. MacDonald… but what if I told ye we had a specific house in mind, yer mam and I?” 

“You already picked one out?” Brianna’s shoulders sank and there was more than just surprise in her question. 

“We havena bought it yet––we’ve a ways yet to go before we’ll have enough saved to do that,” he informed her, “but we do want it and have talked with the bank that owns it about our interest. They’ll let us know if anyone else comes to ask them about buyin’ it so we’ll have a chance to maybe get it for ourselves first… Do… do you want to go see it sometime?”

“Can we do that?”

Jamie nodded. “We can let them know before we do and they’ll maybe give us a key to look inside but more likely we’ll just be able to walk the grounds a bit. Ye can see the house and where Thistle’s barn and paddock will be.”

“How far is it from school?”

“It’s… not in Inverness. It’s near a wee village called Broch Mordha. It’s… it’s where  _ I _ grew up,” Jamie confessed. “Lallybroch.”

Brianna cocked her head as she digested the information. “Is it  _ very _ far?”

“Not too far by car. We’ll make a day of it, hmm. The next time yer mam has a day off the hospital, we’ll drive up and spend the day.”

“We can bring a picnic,” Brianna agreed, though there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm behind the words. “Will you have the money to buy it soon?”

“I dinna ken,” Jamie answered, flushing and ducking his head. Peeking up, Brianna didn’t seem to notice. Modern currency was one of the areas he still looked to Claire frequently for confirmation and reassurance. The bank had told them the price on Lallybroch and Claire promised they would be able to afford it in a year’s time if they combined the settlement from her half of the house in Boston, the last of her inheritance from Uncle Lamb, and as much of their combined salaries as they could save after their regular living expenses. The number still felt impossibly high to Jamie. “Not for a year or more perhaps.”

Brianna nodded. They ate the rest of their meal in silence before getting back to work but Brianna’s thoughts drifted back to Frank and his approaching visit. When they had cleaned up for the day and were walking down the drive to catch their bus, Brianna asked, “Will you go when Daddy gives his lectures at the library? I know you’ve read some books about the Jacobites and maybe you can talk about it with him. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have and it’ll give you something to talk about that won’t get you upset with each other.”

Jamie felt his chest tighten and an echo of suppressed pain shot across his thigh. 

“It’s something to think on,” he answered carefully. “I wouldna want to serve as a distraction, from his lecture or from the time he has to spend with you.”

Brianna accepted Jamie’s reasons but disappointment once again hung around her. He could almost curse Frank Randall for the awkwardness and uncertainty his time in Inverness––the first visit of  _ several _ , Jamie had to remind himself––was creating between Brianna and himself. She clearly wanted the two of them to get along but Jamie didn’t want anything more than polite and abbreviated interactions in their future. 

But for Brianna’s sake… He could––and he  _ would _ ––make a greater effort. It shouldn’t fall to a lass her age to choose one or the other––and while he knew he had gained significant ground in her eyes, he wasn’t confident she would choose him if it came down to it. 


	38. The First Lecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gives his first lecture in Inverness and meets an inquisitive member of the audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all, I thought I posted this two weeks back! (Crazy busy schedule at this time of year).

Frank was disappointed that they weren’t going to attend his first lecture at the library. He stood off to the side of the room that had been arranged for the gathering, watching the seats fill in. It wasn’t that he wanted Claire or her husband in attendance––on that count he was relieved––but without them, Brianna wouldn’t be coming and he’d always wanted her to be able to see him in action. Back in Boston, he’d thought there would be plenty of time when she was older, that he’d sneak her into the back of the lecture hall some day when she was off school. But that was only one of many ‘someday’ plans that had disintegrated the day Claire left for Scotland with Brianna in tow.

“Frank,” Claire had sighed over the phone, “Do you  _ really _ expect us to sit through an hour of you talking about the circumstances leading up to the Rising?” Her voice had been quiet and he heard Brianna and Jamie chattering in the background. “We wasted enough of our lives on it. We’re looking forward, not back. We’ll be at the Reverend’s dinner afterward and I’m sure it will be a lovely evening.” She didn’t sound convinced and he wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of sharing a dinner table with Jamie Fraser either but Reg and Mrs. Graham were bound and determined to do everything in their power to facilitate a mutually tolerable relationship between himself and the Frasers for Brianna’s sake. 

“What about Bree?” Frank had pressed, lowering his own voice though he knew there was no way she’d be able to overhear him. “I’m sure she’s interested.”

“I’m pretty sure the advertisements specify that it’s not a lecture aimed at children. Besides, she’ll talk about it and ask questions after and that’s just as bad as sitting through it ourselves.”

“And you think she won’t ask me about it over dinner after?” he asked, only half ashamed of himself for trying to provoke her. 

“I’m sure she will,” Claire conceded. “And I’m sure  _ you _ will do your best to answer her questions without dragging the subject out. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go out of your way to make Jamie or myself too uncomfortable or we might not be inclined to repeat it when you’re in town for the next lecture.” The threat was clear and Frank bit back a retort. “Don’t test me, Frank. If it was just me, I wouldn’t care, but if you go out of your way to bother Jamie about all this…”

Frank exhaled forcefully, the only sound he gave to his disappointment and frustration.

“I won’t bother to extend the invitation again,” he said curtly. “It seemed the polite thing to do and I know Bree will be disappointed. I’d appreciate it if you told her yourself. Oh, and if you don’t tell her I asked on her behalf, I will.” It was only a fraction of the threat that Claire made and she knew it. 

“We don’t keep secrets from her anymore,” Claire insisted, causing Frank to roll his eyes. 

Of course they didn’t. Except the secret about the stones and where Jamie was really from. But then, he didn’t want Brianna learning the truth about that one either. 

“Professor Randall?” the librarian interrupted his thoughts. 

“Hmm?” 

“If ye’re ready, I’m going to go ahead and introduce ye. I dinna think we’re goin’ to have many more show and them as are here arenae likely to wait long before they lose patience and leave,” she explained with a sympathetic smile. 

Frank glanced out at the room. It was less than half full with locals sitting in clusters and leaning towards one another to whisper with skeptical scowls on their faces. They’d likely come for the spectacle of an Englishman lecturing Scots on their own history, judgment already passed. 

“Yes, I’m ready,” he informed her. “Thank you…”

“Oh, I’m Miss Muriel Shaw,” she told him with a smile. 

“Thank you, Miss Shaw,” he smiled back briefly then looked back down at his notes as she walked out to the podium they’d borrowed for the occasion. 

“I’d like to thank ye all for coming this evening to the first of a series of lectures in support of the proposed Inverness College,” Miss Shaw greeted everyone warmly. “Tonight’s lecturer is Professor Frank Randall, newly of the University of Edinburgh’s history department. He’s a preeminent authority on the Jacobites and their rebellions, specifically the ‘45 and that’s what he’s going to be discussing with us here tonight. Thank you for joining us this evening, Professor Randall.” She turned to the side and gave him a nod to encourage him to come forward and take over. 

No one clapped but one man near the back of the room coughed as Frank made his way to the podium and spread his notes. 

“Thank you, Miss Shaw. I’ve been given the honor of being the first lecturer in this summer series and I’ve also been asked to give several of these lectures, which is a relief, really, because it’s impossible to cover a fraction of my subject in a single evening. Even with the four I’ve been given, I’ll only be able to give the barest overview of aspects that could fill an entire career of study. And I should know as they have and continue to fill mine.” He chuckled at himself and while his audience didn’t laugh with him, they did appear to be relaxing. 

“My goal in these lectures is to explore the factors that played a role in the Jacobite rising of ‘45,” he explained. There was a slight commotion in the back of the room as several young people slipped in and stood against the wall rather than draw further attention to themselves. More than the rest of the audience, they appeared to be prospective students. Frank addressed himself to them as he continued. “That is to say, I’m going to be discussing the key factors that  _ led _ to the ‘45. If any one of these elements had unfolded differently, the path of history could have been forever altered. They might have caused Prince Charles Edward Stuart to remain on the continent. Or they might have sent him to Eriskay sooner and with more men and supplies. Tonight, I’m going to be looking at the finances of the Jacobites––how the Rising was funded, or not, as the case may be.”

As Frank glanced down at his notes to turn the page and continue, he noted the young people at the back of the room. They whispered and quietly laughed among themselves with the exception of one young woman with fair hair and piercing green eyes. She watched Frank without blinking, a sly smile growing on her lips.

The overall murmuring quieted the longer Frank spoke. He relaxed and so did they. 

Frank finished speaking precisely on schedule but the event ran long as various members of the audience asked questions—none more than the fair-haired and green-eyed young woman in the back. She waved off her friends when Miss Shaw stepped in to explain they needed to clear the space for the evening as the library was closing. 

“I’d say that was a rousing success,” Miss Shaw grinned at Frank as she brought him a glass of water and helped him tidy his notes into a pile. “I think ye’ve started us off on the right foot with these lectures. If it’s no bad luck to say, I think there’ll be more chairs filled next time and you to thank for it.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Frank replied. “I look forward to the next one.”

“Professor Randall?” The young woman had wandered to the front of the room. 

Frank nodded to Miss Shaw then began to gather his things. “If you’re interested in applying to the college…” He retrieved a flier from a stack in his papers. “I’m afraid this is all the information I have just now for whom you’ll need to contact and the process itself.”

The young woman laughed. It was a high, mischievous sound that caused Frank to look at her again with more care. 

“I am interested in that but it’s not what I wanted to talk to ye about,” she told him, taking the page and folding it carefully in half. “I just wanted to tell ye how inspiring I found yer talk.” She fell into step beside him as they made their way out of the room and toward the front of the library. 

“And you intend to enroll in a history course as soon as they become available, Miss…?”

“Gillian Allaway,” she introduced herself. “For now at least.” A modest ring flashed on her finger.

“Congratulations.”

“Greg will do,” she grinned. “He doesna think I ought to pursue further schooling once we’re wed, but I have a mind he’ll change his tune when we’re living under the same roof. I’m a woman who needs something to devote my attention to or I’ll go mad but if it were him, I suspect I’d drive him mad first.”

“So you’ve chosen history instead,” Frank remarked, holding the door for her. 

She stepped gladly into the light of the setting sun on the stone steps. “At times I feel it’s chosen me. I suppose it stems from the fairy stories and nursery rhymes I learned as a lass. Once I learned there were hidden history lessons and grains of truth to most of them, I couldn’t stop myself from digging at them and searching for their hidden secrets.”

There was something oddly familiar—and unsettling—about Gillian Allaway. In some ways, she reminded him of Claire. Not how she was now so much as how she had been during the war… and maybe for a short time after it; driven and bristling under the weight of getting on again and letting go of what she’d found for herself near the front. But Claire had been resigned and reserved in many ways—ways that Frank knew now he hadn’t appreciated fully at the time—ways that Miss Allaway was proudly and defiantly not. 

“I feel very safe in predicting that if you decide to pursue a degree in history,” Frank began, glancing at the watch on his wrist, “you will succeed… at that and whatever else on which you set your mind.”

Miss Allaway smiled and it sent a momentary shiver up Frank’s spine. “If I were fishing for compliments, that’s precisely the kind I’d hope to catch.”

Frank blinked and looked back to his watch. 

“Only too happy to give it. I’m afraid I cannot stay to talk longer. I’m expected for dinner and am running later than I planned. I hope to see you at the next lecture in two week’s time,” he nodded to her and turned to go.

“Ye absolutely will and I’ll try to bring more friends with me next time, too. I’ve a few in mind I think will enjoy hearin’ ye speak.”

It was easy enough to put thoughts of Miss Allaway behind him as he began going over the talk and how it unfolded from the beginning. It had gone well and he felt justified in being pleased with himself. As he pulled into the drive at the manse and spotted Claire’s car already parked, he clung to that feeling of accomplishment and let it carry him to the door and a smiling Mrs. Graham.

“Mr. Randall! Ye’re just in time. The table’s set and dinner will only be another few minutes,” she told him. 

“Daddy!” Brianna squealed, running into the hall from the library and launching herself at him. “You were supposed to be done at seven,” she scolded. 

“Well, it went so well I had to answer questions afterward,” he told her. “Now I know better for next time.”

Claire came to stand in the doorway and Fraser appeared behind her a moment later, his hand running up her back and coming to rest on her shoulder. 

“Frank,” the younger man murmured in greeting. Claire’s hand reached up to find and squeeze Fraser’s. Such a small gesture yet it felt like a splinter driven into his skin. 

“Claire… Jamie,” he responded flatly, setting Brianna down. 

“Were there a lot of people there, Daddy? What did you tell them about?” 

“What’s everyone standing in the foyer for?” Reg asked as he began herding them to the dining room. “Did ye no hear Mrs. Graham say supper was nearly ready? Best be seated right away so it doesna wind up waiting of us and lose its heat.” He smiled warmly at Frank as he passed the Frasers and led the way to the table, Brianna slipping her hand into Frank’s and guiding him to a chair next to hers. 

Claire took the chair opposite Frank’s and Fraser sat opposite Brianna. Mrs. Graham came in with a steaming tray a few moments later and set it in front of Reg at the head of the table for carving before claiming the last seat and the table’s other end. 

“I feel I ought to say a few words but I promise not to waste too much breath on it,” Reg promised with a sheepish smile. “Thank ye all for coming and thank ye, Mrs. Graham, for what I already ken will be a delicious meal. And with that, let’s tuck in. Claire, my dear, pass me yer plate and I’ll serve.”


	39. Beginning to See It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire bring Brianna to see the house they're saving to buy and renovate.

Jamie made Claire pull over and stop the car before they reached the top of the hill. 

“We’re not  _ walking _ the rest of the way, are we?” Bree whined. She’d been promised a picnic at the house her parents were saving to buy and she was anxious to hurry up and get there already. 

“If ye dinna appreciate having a means of transportation as fast and fine as this, then aye, perhaps we ought to walk the rest of the way,” Jamie teased as he walked uphill along the shoulder of the road. Brianna rolled her eyes but followed behind him and Claire locked the car before bringing up the rear. 

Jamie stopped at the top and took a step further to the side to give Brianna the best vantage point. 

“It’s a nice view,” she admitted before looking up at Jamie. “Are we almost there?”

He looked to Claire at a loss for words but Claire only smiled and shook her head. 

“Are we almost there? Aye, we’re almost there. Ye can see it from here,” he said throwing his arm out at the valley. Sun slashed through the clouds in random spots, dappling the countryside. 

Brianna sighed and squinted. “Are you sure? I don’t see anything but that building there near the tower. Is that a church?”

Claire chuckled quietly behind them but kept her eyes on Jamie. 

“That  _ is _ it,  _ a nighean _ ,” he explained. “That’s Lallybroch.”

“But it’s  _ huge _ !” Brianna exclaimed, her head spinning to look up at him with disbelief.

“And what’s wrong with that? It was a farm back in the day and farms need to be ‘huge’ to keep all the animals and folk that tend them.”

“There’s only three of us—four if you count Thistle,” Brianna tallied. “And it doesn’t look like there’s anything near it, either.”

“Why don’t you see how you like it up close before you make up your mind, hmm?” Claire interrupted. She gestured for them to return to the car and soon Brianna and Jamie had their faces pressed to the windows to see it again for the few moments before their descent moved the treeline back into their line of sight and blocked their view.

“And it’s where you grew up?” Brianna asked leaning forward in the back seat so she could rest her folded arms on the back of Jamie’s seat. 

“Wi’ my sister and my best friend… and my brother, before he passed. There’s an old family graveyard on the property that ye ought to see.”

“A graveyard? As part of the yard yard?” She shuddered. “That sounds creepy.”

“It’s no right near the house,” Jamie reassured her. “It’s a bit of a walk and on the hillside near the  _ broch _ .”

“Brook?”

“No,  _ broch _ ,” he enunciated. “It’s that tower ye saw.  _ Broch Tuarach _ . It means ‘north-facing tower’ but everyone called it  _ Lallybroch _ cause the  _ broch _ ’s a bit crooked.”

The road dipped down into the forest, curving to the left until it finally emerged and Brianna stuck herself into the space between the driver and passenger seats so she could peer through the front window. 

The house rose high above a wall of matching stone with an archway into the main yard. The structure appeared solid though worn and weary. There were a few places where the roof had clearly begun to collapse into the building. It would take a lot to fix it up and make it habitable again but the bones were still there and carried the promise of rebirth for anyone willing to see it.

Jamie and Claire both turned slightly to be able to watch Brianna from the corners of their eyes. Her mouth gaped open as she blinked at the size and simple design of the structure. 

“Are you sure it’s not a church?” she murmured. 

Jamie and Claire chuckled as they undid their seatbelts and left a door open for Brianna to follow them. They stayed close to each other and Claire frequently reached over to Jamie—taking his hand and squeezing it or resting hers on his shoulder—checking to be sure he was all right. 

The agent had loaned them the key—after Claire and Jamie had signed liability waivers to assuage concerns about the conditions inside. Claire offered it to Jamie but he declined so she climbed the steps, opened the padlock, and removed the chains blocking entry. She tried to push her way in but the door was stuck. 

At last, Jamie approached it and ran a palm lightly over the ancient wood, then reached for the handle and leaned into the door with his shoulder. The hinge creaked and the door gave a little. Then Brianna was next to him adding her weight to the door, eager to satisfy her curiosity and see inside. 

It lurched and Claire just got hold of Brianna by the arm before she could tumble into the entryway. 

“Oh, wow,” Brianna whispered as she started inside walking reverently and peering from side to side in the dim light from the windows. Dust hovered, caught in the beams as it fought gravity and rode the invisible air currents they made as they moved silently through the bare and crumbling rooms. 

Their footsteps echoed off the high ceilings. Brianna moved swiftly, taking in the whole with wide eyes, examining the space from every angle. Claire smiled as she watched Brianna’s excitement and wonder then she turned to see Jamie frowning as he ran a hand along the wall and left a smear in the dust and cobwebs. 

“It won’t be much longer and we’ll have the money saved,” Claire whispered as she came up behind him and slipped her hand through his arm. “We’ll wash these walls and give them a fresh coat of paint… or we can wallpaper them—it might be difficult but we can see if there are any patterns that remind you of what was here before.”

“Look,” he murmured, pulling her back to the doorframe. The wood was uneven and pocked. It had been irregularly cut by a smooth blade, lacking the teeth of a saw. Time had helped remove the dangerous splinters from edges of the cuts. “The Red Coats did this in the years after Culloden. Jenny suggested fixing them once but Ian wouldna do it. He said they should stay as a reminder of what had happened… a lesson to the bairns and them as didna see it first-hand.” 

“Mmm,” she hummed, resting her chin on Jamie’s shoulder. “You told me the first time I brought you back here. But I can think of someone else who might like to hear that story,” Claire said quietly, resting her chin on Jamie’s shoulder. 

“Are ye sure it wouldna be walking her too close to the truth?” he asked, uncertain before adding in a hurried whisper, “D’ye think we ever  _ should _ tell her about the stones?”

Claire looked over her shoulder to where Brianna was leaning under the mantle and peering up the chimney. 

“I don’t know… I don’t want to lie to her but I don’t know that she’d believe it or that it will do anything but confuse her if she does,” Claire admitted with disappointment. “She’s been through a lot of changes in the last year already and she seems to finally be settled. Buying Lallybroch and making the repairs to it will be more changes and then moving in and forcing her to switch schools again… not to mention that  _ other _ change we’re hoping to bring into our lives at some point…”

A smile crept across Jamie’s face, then he turned and kissed Claire’s nose. 

“We can honor the past but we must not let ourselves become mired in it,” he agreed. “Bring it into our future but dinna let it drag us back. We dinna need to say anything to Bree.” 

“Is this where those paintings hung, Da?” Brianna called from across the hall looking up at a roughly rectangular space on the wall that didn’t appear to be as faded or dirty as the rest. 

“Aye,” Jamie called, striding over to stand behind Brianna. “The one of… the lass wi’ her birds hung there.” He reached down to rest his hands on Brianna’s shoulders and gently turned her around to face a spot on the opposite wall between two windows. The wall there wasn’t as obviously affected as the other did receiving direct sunlight in the evening. “And that’s where the two brothers and their dogs hung.” 

“What about the woman with the necklace? Where did that one hang?”

“In the hallway upstairs,” he said with a glance at the landing. The carved banister looked dull under its coat of dust but still appeared sturdy; the stairs themselves less so. “It was on the wall across from my parents room.”

“I want to go see,” Brianna said, rushing to the staircase. 

Jamie lunged and caught her around the waist. She squealed as he lifted her up and swung her to the side. 

“Let’s not try those stairs on a whim. I dinna want ye putting yer foot through one and needing yer mam to pluck out splinters or stitch up yer leg.” 

“How many rooms are up there?” Brianna strained to count doors from her awkward vantage point. 

“Six with a few up another small flight that servants used.” He was looking up himself so he missed seeing how wide Brianna’s eyes went when he mentioned servants. 

“Let’s look around more down here,” Claire suggested as Jamie set Brianna back down on her feet. 

They poked their heads into the study next. “It’s the same desk,” Jamie murmured, fascinated. 

Brianna walked around it and then frowned at the empty bookshelves. They were built into the walls. 

Jamie pressed his palm to the surface and left behind a broad palm print in the dust, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants. 

“Must’ve been too large and heavy to get back out again,” Claire speculated. 

They drifted through the dining room and into the kitchen where Brianna glanced around before heading down the short hall past the trap door to the root cellar and priest’s hole to Claire’s old still room. 

“Good,” Brianna said when she opened the door and peered in. “I was beginning to wonder if this house had any bathrooms at all.” 

“A what?” Claire exclaimed, hurrying forward to see for herself. 

The floor had been tiled over and a sink, toilet, and bathtub installed. It had seemed a large, albeit crowded space when her work table filled the center, herbs hung from the drying rack, and glass bottles occupied shelves along one wall. But now it felt small, even empty of bath linens and the other decorative filler found in twentieth century washrooms. 

Jamie bit his tongue when he saw Claire’s disappointed pout and slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her close so he could whisper in her ear. 

“If ye must have a still room, ye can use one of the bedrooms upstairs,” he soothed her. “We’ll no be filling  _ all _ of them so soon.”

That earned a snort from Claire. “I should say not. And we will be needing a washroom or two. I certainly don’t miss using chamber pots, do you?” She felt him shake his head into her hair. “You’re beginning to see it, aren’t you?” she murmured, shifting in his arms to snake her own around his neck. “You can see how we can bring it back and make it our own.”

He nodded. “I feel I could walk out to the barn now and fetch the tools to start.”

“There’s a barn?” Brianna exclaimed from the middle of the washroom. 

Jamie chuckled. “I told ye it was a farm, no? And that we’d bring Thistle with us when we came for good, did I not?”

“I wanna see!” Brianna pushed past them and grabbed Jamie’s hand to pull him along. 

“The barn right quick but then we need to find a place to settle for our picnic,” Claire called after them. “I’m starved.” 


	40. The Start of a New Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets to spend a day with Brianna but needs to figure out what they should spend that time doing.

Frank arranged his notes in the back room. There were still fifteen minutes before the second lecture started. He was more relaxed than the first time though perhaps a bit more eager to have it over. Claire had agreed to let him take Brianna for the day Sunday, once they’d returned from mass and as long as he had her back in time for dinner since she had school on Monday. 

He was trying to decide what they should do together. It was enough time to take her somewhere like Loch Ness but would she want to do a day trip like that after living close for so long now? Or there were other landmarks she might be interested in, like the castle at Leoch. It was unlikely Claire and her husband would be taking Brianna to places like that given their own history in the area. But would going on a day trip anywhere be something Brianna wanted to do? He hated not knowing instinctively what Brianna would like anymore. There had been a time when he didn’t second guess himself at all where she was concerned, a time when he knew exactly what gift to get for Christmas to make her face light up and what treat would soothe the sting of a rough day at school. She wasn’t completely a stranger to him yet, but he could feel her slipping away. It had slowed down since he moved to Scotland and was able to speak with her on the phone rather than rely on letters, but it was still happening. 

“Is there something on yer mind, Professor Randall?” the librarian asked with a concerned frown on her face. “Ye look like ye’re trying to bore a hole in the table wi’ naught but yer mind.”

Frank smiled self-consciously as he glanced up to Miss Shaw. “I’m just trying to think of something to do with my daughter tomorrow.”

“Is it a special occasion, then?” 

He shook his head. “We just don’t see one another much since her mother and I divorced.”

Miss Shaw’s expression shifted from playful to serious. “I’m sorry to hear that. It canna have been easy on the lass.”

“She’s doing well now but no, it hasn’t been easy.”

Miss Shaw pulled out the chair opposite him and sat, folding her hands in her lap. “Let’s hear yer ideas then.”

Frank blinked with surprise for a moment but then sighed and set his notes aside. 

“Well… We came to Scotland on holiday last spring before… circumstances between her mother and I…” he trailed. “I took her to Culloden then. She enjoys history and visiting the sites so I had thought perhaps Castle Leoch or Loch Ness.”

Miss Shaw tilted her head and frowned as she considered his suggestions.

“And the lass lives here in Scotland now?”

He nodded. “Her mother… remarried.”

“Ah… I’d be wary of trying to do too much, then,” Miss Shaw responded candidly. “Much as ye might want to do everything ye used to in the time ye have, aiming for too much doesna leave the time for just the two of ye to have time to yerselves. Ye can ask her what she’d like but stayin’ close at the park say or treatin’ her to a dinner just the two of ye. It doesna need to be grand to be special.”

“Thank you,” Frank said, impressed. He watched Miss Shaw’s cheeks go pink under his attention. “I’ll certainly think about it more… If you don’t mind my saying, but you sound as though you’re speaking from some sort of personal experience…”

“My mam passed when I was a wee thing and my da couldna raise me on his own. I went to stay wi’ my mam’s sister as she couldna leave her family and my da couldna leave his job,” Miss Shaw explained. She played with her hands in her lap, avoiding Frank’s eye. “We didna see each other more’n twice a month but he’d take me to his favorite pub for supper and we’d just sit and I’d tell him of my schoolin’ and complain about my aunt and cousins, then he’d tell me of work and complain about his supervisor… Just a bit of food and each other’s company for a few hours, but I looked forward to it for weeks.”

“It sounds lovely,” Frank told her, watching her flush again and turning back to his notes so she could wipe her eyes unobserved. 

“Here I am prattling away when I was supposed to come and fetch ye,” she said with a laugh a few moments later. “There’s more folk here this lecture than last. I’ll go out in five minutes to introduce ye if ye’re near ready.”

“Five minutes is fine, thank you.” 

She got up to leave but he hastily added, “And thank you for sharing that. It’s precisely the sort of thing I think Brianna will enjoy. Perhaps afterwards you might recommend a restaurant or two.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Randall.”

“You must call me Frank,” he smiled. 

“Then ye’ll be addressing me as Muriel in return.” With a final nod, she left the side room and closed the door behind her. 

Frank couldn’t stop grinning after the success of his second lecture. Not only had there been more people in attendance, the questions at the end of the session had blossomed into a wonderful discussion. Muriel complimented him on the night as the last few people dragged their heels on the way out the door. That student Gillian had been there again and had brought different friends with her, these more interested and intense, though she’d only given Frank a brief nod of recognition as her group was leaving. 

“I’m goin’ to speak with the director about using the larger room for yer next talk,” Muriel had said as he walked her to her vehicle. “There were only two empty seats this time and there’ll be at least half a dozen more standing next time if my guess is correct.”

“For the new college’s sake, I hope your guess is short,” Frank joked. 

“I’ll see ye in a few weeks then,” Muriel said with a smile and a nod as she ducked into her car. 

“Until then and thank you for the restaurant recommendation,” he returned. “I’ll have to let you know what Bree makes of it.”

Frank’s good mood carried him through even to the moment when he stood at Claire and Jamie’s door to retrieve Brianna at ten for their day together. 

Jamie answered the door. 

“Frank. Bree’s nearly ready,” Jamie informed him. “Would ye care to come in?”

“Uh… yes, thank you.” He took his hat off, thankful he had something to keep his hands occupied while he hovered just inside the doorway waiting. 

Jamie leaned against the nearby counter as Frank looked around. 

“Claire’s at the hospital just now. One of her patients had an emergency,” Jamie explained. 

“I can’t say I miss those days,” Frank quipped before he could think the comment all the way through. He cleared his throat and continued to take in his surroundings, relieved that Jamie remained silent.

There were photographs everywhere—images from Edinburgh, from the small wedding he’d successfully avoided, from a rundown estate somewhere in the highlands. He was struck by the stark contrast to the photographs that had decorated the brownstone in Boston. Everything about those had been posed and carefully arranged from the frames along the mantle to the Claire, Brianna, and himself within them. Few of the pictures on these walls had the subjects looking straight to camera and there was no stiffness in the way their bodies were arranged. The frames were scattered with a handful on a shelf, two more on an end table, and one larger one mounted on the wall—a wedding portrait with Jamie and Claire kissing, each with a hand on one of Brianna’s shoulders and her smiling at the camera willfully ignorant of her parents’ display just behind her. 

Other things were scattered about the flat from Brianna’s book bag to Jamie’s boots for work. It was a crowded and lived-in space but not messy or unwelcoming. Had he ever lived in a space like this? 

“Daddy!” Brianna cried from her bedroom door. She ran across the room to hug him. “Can we go to the barn?” she turned to Jamie, pleading. “I want to show him Thistle. Please, please, please…”

Frank’s expression froze but as he glanced to Jamie he saw the other man already shaking his head ‘no.’ 

“That’s something I must arrange special wi’ Mr. MacDonald,” he reminded Brianna. “Ye ken I promised yer mam that I’ll bring her something to eat at the hospital and keep her company while she waits for Mr. Campbell’s test results.”

“Besides, Bree,” Frank interjected. “I was hoping to take you somewhere special for lunch. A friend recommended a small restaurant that she thought you might like. Your… as he says, arrangements can be made for another time. I do want to see how well you ride and someday soon I will, I promise.” He looked to Jamie with raised brows. 

Jamie swallowed but said, “Aye… perhaps the next time ye’re in town for one of yer talks.” When he looked at Brianna, he smiled broadly. “Yer mam hasna seen ye ride properly either. We’ll make a day of it.”

Brianna grinned, appeased. 

“Do you have everything you’ll need for today?” Frank asked, looking to hurry things along. 

“That depends on what we’re doing after we’re done with lunch,” she countered as she scurried to a chair with a child’s purse sitting on it. 

“I think we’ll take it in stride for now. We can work to think of something more to do while we eat.”

“Okay.” Brianna ran to give Jamie a quick squeeze. “Bye Da. Tell Mama I hope Mr. Campbell’s all right.”

“I’ll pass along the message. Have fun _ , mo nighean ruaidh _ .” He kissed her crown. 

When the door had closed behind them, Brianna followed Frank and asked, “So where are we going?”

It was a smaller place than Muriel had led him to believe but it had a homey feel to it. Of course, most of the local places had that intimate aura about them—or at least they did until the locals heard his accent. But word was getting around about his lectures and he was beginning to find that instead of frowning with suspicion he was more likely to be asked, “Are ye that English professor from Edinburgh then?”

The waitress who came to take their order asked and Frank couldn’t help the swell of pride as he watched Brianna light up across from him. 

“She knows who you are,” Brianna tittered after the young woman had gone to fetch them their drinks. 

“How are you enjoying your summer holidays so far?” Frank asked, always quietly terrified that some drastic change might have taken place since he’d seen her last, though in this instance it had been less than a month. 

“They’re good. I’ve been able to go to my friends’ a few times to stay over night and I get to play with Thistle a lot. I can’t wait till I don’t have to go to the stables to see her anymore but Mama and Da say it’s going to be a while yet. Even after they buy Lallybroch, they need to fix a bunch of stuff with the house before we can live there and Da’s barely looked at the barn except to see it’s still standing.”

“Lallybroch?” Frank frowned. The name sounded familiar. 

“It’s where Da grew up but no one’s lived there for a long time now and things inside fell apart,” Brianna explained.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I think he said it’s near Broch Mordha. Mama will have to leave the hospital when we do move but she can open her own family practice and won’t have to work on weekends at all.” Her face fell a little. “I’ll have to change schools again, though.” 

Frank wasn’t sure of where Broch Mordha was in relation to either Inverness or Edinburgh but he made a mental note to find it on a map later.

“You made new friends when you came from Boston,” he pointed out. “I’m sure you’ll do fine if you have to switch again.”

“Da says I can help with some of the repairs, especially the barn since Thistle’s mine and it’s my responsibility to make sure she has a place to sleep.”

Frank swallowed but nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“I hope I hear back from Mr. Masters about the paintings soon. I want to see if I can get him to sell them to me so I can surprise Mama and Da with them when when everything’s done and we go to live there. It’s probably gonna be a lot so I need to start saving now but Mr. MacDonald’s been paying me for helping Da at the barn.”

“These are the portraits you saw at the museum in London?”

Brianna nodded. “I don’t know what’s taking Mr. Masters so long to write back… unless…  maybe the lady at the desk forgot to give him my note.” 

Frank could hear the fear and panic rising in her voice and he rushed to quash it. 

“Perhaps he’s been busy. Men like that who loan and donate art to museums are often all over the place—looking for more paintings and things for his collection.”

“If he’s getting new paintings, maybe he’ll be willing to give me a good deal on the ones he loaned to the museum,” Brianna remarked, perking up. 

“Remind me… in which museum did you find them?”

“The National Portrait Gallery. Do you know anyone there? I hoped you might!”

“I don’t know anyone personally but I’m sure someone at the university will. I might have to pop over to the fine arts department and make a few enquiries—see if I can’t get you a full name and address for Mr. Masters so you can write him directly instead of relying on the museum staff to pass along a message.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Brianna beamed and jumped up from her seat to hurry around the table and kiss his cheek. She nearly upset the waitress’ tray as she brought them their drinks. 

Frank let the pride from earlier wash over him again. She needed his help on a matter that was something neither Claire nor Jamie could assist her. And it was something that she was clearly excited about pursuing. He had missed this feeling. It was more than just pride. It was the quiet feeling of power, of capability that can only be found in the faith of those you love when they place it in you. It was the kind of faith you hate to disappoint so it makes you strive harder. 

“I can’t wait to surprise Da with them. You know there are still marks on the walls at Lallybroch where they used to hang?” Brianna told him, settling back into her seat and taking a sip of her water. “You really need to see the house there. It’s from before the Jacobites and the Rising. There’s marks from soldiers’ swords when they came to the house to terrorize the people that lived there after Culloden.”

That feeling of power and pride deflated as Brianna rambled on about how much Frank would like Lallybroch and its history. 

He was far from proud about the thought that slipped into his mind and comforted him just then. Whatever Brianna was being paid for working at the stables, it would never be enough to purchase any of the three portraits she sought to buy as a surprise for Jamie Fraser.


	41. A Meeting at the Bank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire presses Jamie about a step that will allow them to buy Lallybroch sooner rather than later.

Jamie insisted Claire let him rub her feet when she finally got home from the hospital. They had talked about going out and having what Claire referred to as a “date night” in that extended period of time when Frank would have Brianna. But they hadn’t been able to decide on what they wanted to do and then the emergency had come up at the hospital. Quiet time alone proved more alluring than an adventure of any kind to be found outside the flat, even an adventure as uneventful as going out to eat. 

As Jamie’s thumb pressed hard into the arch of her foot, Claire groaned loudly and curled her toes. 

“Are we sure we want to add a baby into this peace and quiet?” she asked teasingly. “I doubt Frank will want to babysit a new little one the way he watches Bree.” 

“First off,  _ quiet _ ? Ye’ve done little more than yammer about yer work and grunt and groan over yer aches and pains since ye got home,” Jamie joked back. “I dinna mind the grunting and groaning so much, though there are other ways I’d rather be inspiring those noises.”

She gave him a light kick in the upper arm with her free foot. 

“Second, I’ve had more peace in the last year here in this noisy time with you and Bree than I had the ten years before and I assure ye, that cave was quiet,” he said on a more serious note. 

Claire watched him carefully for a few moments though his attention remained on her feet, turning his ministration from one to the other. 

“I understand. The closest I came to true peace until you found me was the stress and organized chaos of the operating room. So long as I could focus on other people and how to help them… I didn’t have to feel how broken I was…”

Jamie’s hands wandered from her foot to her ankle and slowly started inching their way up her calf to the sensitive spot behind her knee. 

“We’ll neither of us be so broken again,” Jamie said with dismissive conviction. He looked up at her while his hands continued to massage her tired flesh. “So long as we have each other and the bairns—however many and whenever they come.”

“I should prefer they come when we have a larger space for them to sleep and play in,” Claire said with a significant look. 

Jamie managed to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. “I ken ye dinna think the idea of a  _ loan _ is a bad thing, Sassenach, but it’s a risk I dinna ken if I’m comfortable taking. What if we canna pay it back? With the expenses of starting a farm and the results bein’ unpredictable…”

“And if we were still in the eighteenth century, I’d probably be inclined to agree with you,” Claire countered. “When we lived in your time, you asked that I defer to you—even after I’d been living there for more than two years.”

Jamie frowned but refrained from commenting again. 

“All I want to do is make an appointment with the bank to discuss it.” 

He remained silent and Claire knew she was gaining ground. She’d been chipping away at him where and when there was time but it wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have in front of Brianna, which left her options limited. 

“Which risk is the one you find more objectionable, the risk of not paying back the loan, or the risk that someone else will snatch Lallybroch up for themselves? And if someone else buys it, they may not bother to fix it up as it is. They might decide it’s easier for them to tear it down and build from scratch,” Claire argued. 

Jamie wore a look that was a mixture of abject horror and doubt, like he couldn’t decide if she was blowing the situation out of proportion to get her way. 

“We spoke wi’ the people as own Lallybroch now and they’ve said they’ll hold it for us,” he reminded her.

“We don’t have it in writing and the longer it takes for us to put any money on it, the more likely they’ll take someone else’s offer if it should come along. If we get a loan, we can buy Lallybroch and make a start of restoring it. You’ll be able to do a lot of the work yourself, so we’ll save money there and we’ll live here for a while yet so I’ll be able to keep working at the hospital to pay the loan back or put into materials for the house…”

As Jamie massaged Claire’s leg, the toes of the foot receiving no attention began to stroke Jamie’s thigh.

“And what if ye canna work? What if ye get with child and—”

“All the more reason to do it now,” Claire interjected. “We don’t know how long it will take to have another child. We’re both of us ten years older. Better to take a loan now and work on restoring Lallybroch when we don’t have an infant demanding our time and attention, when I can help both physically and financially.” 

Her toes crept higher on his thigh making him jump. He let his own hand slide from her knee down under her thigh till he could pinch her backside and make her squeak.

“If I agree to go and hear the banker out, will ye come to bed with me now and not leave until Bree knocks on the door?”

“Deal,” Claire grinned, triumphantly.

* * *

It meant taking a day off work for both of them. They had planned to have Mrs. Graham watch Brianna but when she found out what they were doing Brianna asked to go too.

“It’s going to be long and boring, darling,” Claire tried to warn her. “You’ll have far more fun baking or watching television with Mrs. Graham.”

“I won’t be bored, I promise.” When that declaration earned her two pairs of eyebrows raised in skepticism, Brianna sighed. “And if I do get bored I promise I won’t complain about it.” 

Claire and Jamie shared a look before nodding.

“Ye’ll bring a book to read or something just as quiet to keep yerself busy with while we meet with the bank people,” Jamie instructed. 

Brianna agreed and hurried off to gather her sketchbook and drawing pencils. 

“And  _ you’ll _ let  _ me _ do the talking,” Claire told Jamie. 

He feigned offense but slipped his hands around her waist before responding, “As ye wish, Sassenach. It’s yer time, after all.”

“Well once we have Lallybroch again it will officially be  _ our _ time,” she said with a smile before kissing him. 

Brianna sketched the portraits of both her parents as well as the banker in the three hours spent discussing the terms of the loan with before offering their references, waiting for the banker to make telephone calls for verification, and have a brief meeting with his supervisors before finally bringing the paperwork for them to sign. She didn’t once complain of being bored, only hungry as the morning wore on and became afternoon. One of the secretaries gave her a few candies to tide her over until everything was finished at the bank. 

“We’ll go for lunch and then I’m afraid we need to go to the property office to sign the paperwork that will get the purchase started.” Brianna groaned loudly but Jamie’s sigh didn’t go unremarked. “It will take a few days for the bank and the property agents to straighten out the funds but… since we’re already on good terms with the agents, they  _ might _ be willing to hand over the keys this afternoon,” Claire explained with an excited grin. 

Lunch was quick and quiet as they were all too hungry and relieved that the worst was over to talk. Brianna pulled her sketchbook out to display the newest additions.

“I’m getting better at making sure everything’s size is right,” she said with some satisfaction. “I used to get too focused on smaller sections so when I finished the nose was too big when you looked at it with the eyes or the mouth didn’t line up right.”

Jamie flipped backwards through the sketchbook to see some of the older drawings. It was remarkable how much her portraits had already improved simply through practice. He felt a small stab of regret that they couldn’t look into hiring an art instructor to work with Brianna privately; every spare penny for the foreseeable future was going to need to go towards Lallybroch, either paying to fix it up or paying back the new loan. His own parents had made sure the tutors and instructors they hired had been able to give Jenny brief lessons in drawing or painting but his mother had been more naturally skilled than any of them, both in her own work and in teaching Jenny so long as her interest held; she had neither the skill nor patience for it. 

It was clear Brianna had both. She’d even worked on sketching the portraits they’d seen at the National Gallery from memory. They were ghostly outlines of body position and proportion more than anything but there was enough for him to recognize the angle of his mother’s head as she met the viewer’s eye, the grace of Jenny’s arm and hand as it cradled a recovering bird, the support and attention Willie had given him while Jamie had been preoccupied with the dogs. 

“Daddy’s going to help me find Mr. Masters so I can ask him more about them. If he’s willing to sell them, maybe we can take out another loan," If the world seems cold to you, kindle fires to warm it,”  Brianna suggested to Jamie. “If not, we can maybe go back to the museum when I’m better at this and I can try to paint you copies of them.”

“Tha’s verra sweet of ye, Bree,” Jamie said quietly. “I’d like that.”

“Shall we move on to the estate agents’ office?” Claire asked after Jamie finished looking through the sketches—the later pages dominated with experimental drawings of Thistle—and set the sketchbook aside. “I have an idea for something I want to do if we get the keys but it will take a while so the sooner we’re off, the better.”

* * *

Claire’s smile had grown by the time she stepped out of the telephone booth on the corner.

“Who did you call?” Brianna asked, her excitement growing.

“Reverend Wakefield. He’s agreed to let us borrow a few things.”

“And what might that be, Sassenach?” Jamie asked with a suspicious smirk of his own.

“Some bedrolls and lanterns. He’s going to have Roger help him dig them out. We’ll pick them up after we head back to the flat and pack.” She was practically skipping as she led the way to the car.

“We’re going camping?” Brianna asked, confused.

“We’re going to spend the night at Lallybroch to celebrate, now that it’s almost officially ours,” Claire proclaimed. “Unless you want to sleep on the bare floor, we’re going to need bedrolls and a few other camping supplies.”

“Are we going to stay the whole weekend?” Brianna leaned forward into the space between the driver and passenger seats. 

“Pack enough clothes for that to be safe.”

Brianna scurried to her room before Claire had finished removing the key from the lock. 

Jamie laughed. “She seems thrilled to be goin’ back.”

“If we can keep easing her into it, making her a part of the process, I think she’ll be ready when the time arrives to make the move permanent.”

Jamie followed Claire to their bedroom where they moved with the coordination and grace of practiced coexistence. Each was aware of the other’s space and knew the other’s habits so that they anticipated the other’s needs while avoiding collision. 

“Thank ye, Sassenach. I dinna think I’ve spent a proper night at Lallybroch since I was last there with you before… well, before.”

“You didn’t spend  _ all _ your time in that cave when you were there before Ardsmuir, I’m sure,” Claire remarked, gently prodding and assessing the edges of a wound with scar tissue. 

“A  _ proper _ night,” he reminded her. “I spent nights in the house but often didna sleep. I needed to leave again before dawn to find my way back to the cave when none would see me. If there was need for me to stay longer, it was the priest hole.”

Unable to think of something to say, Claire set aside the trousers she was folding and moved to slip her arms around Jamie, needing to touch him as much as she thought he needed to be held.

He smiled and pressed his cheek into her hair, breathing deeply.

“That’s another thing—even did I sleep in a real bed, a proper room during those years, I wouldna count it as a proper night at Lallybroch without you in the bed beside me.” He could feel her smiling against his shoulder.

Brianna’s pack hit the floor in the other room with a heavy thud, reminding them they needed to return to the task at hand. She appeared in the doorway a moment later.

“You’re not ready yet?” 

“Nearly there. Why don’t you help by fetching the pail from the cleaning cupboard as well as the rags,” Claire suggested.

“What’re those for?”

“We’ll spend some time tomorrow getting a start on cleaning the house. There’s a lot of work to do and no reason not to start right away.”

“But we’re supposed to be  _ celebrating _ ,” Brianna responded with a whine.

“We are. We’re celebrating that the house is ours now and that means we need to take care of it,” Claire lectured.

Brianna turned her back before she rolled her eyes but Claire could tell she’d done it from the set of her shoulders as she walked away. 

Jamie chuckled as they finished pulling out and packing their things. To the bucket Brianna duly fetched, Jamie added a hammer and small box of nails. 

When they swung by the manse on their way out of town, Roger and Reverend Wakefield had pulled out two bedrolls, a lantern, and a few canteens.

“We werena sure you would need them, but we thought it would be better to pull them out and see than have to go back again,” Reverend Wakefield said with a smile as he helped Jamie carry the supplies to the boot of Claire’s car. 

“Thank you, those will come in handy. We’ll stop in Broch Mordha for food supplies after we’ve settled enough to know what kitchen tools work,” Claire said. 

“Wise,” Reverend Wakefield agreed. “Dinna let us keep you. Ye’ve a ways to go yet. And congratulations. I should love to see it when ye have it fixed and livable again.”

“We’ll have a special something to mark the occasion when it’s finished and ready,” Jamie promised the older man, “and we’ll be sure to invite ye.”


	42. Absence and Presence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie, Claire, and Brianna arrive at Lallybroch now that it's theirs and begin restoring it.

The sun hadn’t set yet but it was well on its way when they arrived at Lallybroch late that afternoon. They left their things in the car at first, standing and leaning against the side of the vehicle as they stared up at the deteriorating stone of the exterior wall. 

“We’ll need to start by giving everything a good wash, I think,” Claire said. Her eyes traced lines of moss and other plant life that had taken unlikely root in cracks where the mortar had been lost. She never would have thought she’d need to  _ weed _ a house someday, much less Lallybroch. 

“We’re starting inside, right?” Brianna asked. “I mean, that’s where we’re going to sleep tonight.  _ I _ don’t want to sleep in dirt and dust.”

“We’ll start inside,” Claire assured her then moved to retrieve the box of cleaning supplies she’d packed in the back seat next to Brianna. “Just pray that the water inside works and that it doesn’t take too long to run clean.”

Brianna grimaced but followed Claire’s example and turned to fetch the lanterns Reverend Wakefield had loaned them.

Jamie was still standing motionless looking up at the house. Claire set the box on the ground nearby and slipped herself effortlessly into his side, draping his arm over her shoulder so she could get closer. He blinked at the tears in his eyes, causing them to slip free and fall silently. She reached up and brushed one away on his cheek. 

“Welcome home, Jamie,” she whispered before kissing the wet streak left behind. 

He sniffed and smiled. “Welcome home to you too, Sassenach,” he murmured. “I wonder… No. I ken it’ll never feel the way it did before, when I was here with you and Jenny and Ian… I dinna ken if it will ever feel complete again the way it did then…” he mused as he looked at the aged structure and but saw what it once was. “It canna feel  _ complete _ without them, but it doesna feel nearly so empty as it did without  _ you _ .”

“Sometimes feeling someone’s absence is the only way left to feel their presence. Well,” she amended, leaning her head against his shoulder, “not the  _ only _ way… but the easiest way. After a while, when it doesn’t hurt so much, it’s what sets you thinking about them and remembering how you felt when they were there. And for a few fleeting moments you might feel it again.”

“Mmm,” Jamie nodded. “I’m sure I’ll no be able to look at yer running water and electric lights and no hear Jenny scolding the bairns to put themselves to more useful tasks than cluttering her kitchen so she couldna turn around without stepping on them. She told them if they needed something to keep them from underfoot, they could always fetch more water or split some wood for the fires. What would she make of all this now, I wonder?”

“She’d enjoy the chance to read more of her French novels, I expect,” Claire smiled. 

Jamie chuckled and Claire felt his hold on her tighten briefly. It was part of why they wanted Lallybroch and had worked and saved so hard to get it. They didn’t want an entirely fresh start. They wanted their new beginning to allow room and reverence for the old. They wanted to remember, not forget.

“Are you two coming?” Brianna finally called to them from where she had settled herself waiting on the steps. “If you want to stay out, can you at least let  _ me _ go in? I need to use the bathroom.”

Claire gave Jamie the keys from her pocket and picked up the box of cleaning supplies, falling into step behind him as he advanced up the steps past Brianna and her fidgeting. He paused and exhaled slowly before unlocking and pushing open the door.

There wasn’t as much light as the last time they’d been there. They would need the lanterns to work by as they cleared a space for sleeping. There would be more natural light in the morning as they started work on more difficult cleaning and repairing tasks. 

Depositing their boxes in the entryway, they drifted to the larger hall and looked around. Not much had changed in the weeks since they’d last been there. Dust and grime still coated the walls and windows; the hearth and chimney were sooty and crumbling; the stairs leading to the second floor needed repairs. 

But now it was officially theirs. 

Brianna quickly moved on from the cursory review of the interior, her bladder demanding immediate attention. Claire helped guide her to the facilities they’d seen on their last visit and sighed with relief when the plumbing proved functional.

“The water’s running a bit rusty but that’s likely due to disuse,” she said when Brianna frowned at the reddish-brown output from the tap. “We’ll just let it run a bit. You watch it and I’ll fetch one of the buckets. If it goes clear, turn it off till I return.”

They filled two buckets and began to wash a space on the floor large enough for their bedrolls. Jamie took one of the torches and went to inspect the condition of the hearth, emerging a few minutes later coughing and sprinkled with soot but smiling. 

“It doesna seem to be too bad. I think we can make a fire in there tonight if I can go find a bit of kindling. Might even be able to use it to heat our food tonight. Warm and toasted sandwiches instead of cold, eh?”

“Please,” Brianna said with her stomach already grumbling. She used the back of her hand to brush a stray tendril of hair out of her eyes and smeared dust across her forehead. 

It didn’t take long for Jamie to return with an armful of thick sticks and dead wood from the untended forest at the edge of the property. While he carefully stacked the firewood in the hearth, Brianna and Claire cleaned up their supplies and laid out their impromptu camp on the floor of the hall. 

Claire brought a box of matches over to Jamie and held them out. He grinned and glanced over his shoulder to see that Brianna was still preoccupied. 

“These are easily one of my favorite things about this time,” he told Claire, keeping his voice low. He slid the box open and pulled out a single match, examining it by the light of the torch for a moment before closing the box and using the side to ignite it. “The electric lights are a marvel but this…” He watched the kindling catch and the flames burn brighter and higher. “The smell and the heat… the way the light and shadow chase each other—playing together, no fighting. There’s just something about a fire in the hearth that  _ is _ home.” 

“Waxing poetic over a fire.” She shook her head and smiled. Jamie rose out of his crouch and took her by the shoulders to kiss her. He tasted of soot and smelled of smoke and the earthiness of the forest where he’d gathered the wood. 

“I’m a mess,” she apologized after he’d let go of her. She brushed at her face then looked at her hands realizing she could only be making matters worse. 

“And I’m a fresh daisy, am I?” Jamie teased, stepping closer to her again so that they were nearly pressed against each other. 

Brianna’s groan of annoyance was loud enough for them to hear across the room. Both smiled and fought the urge to laugh.

“Later,” Jamie whispered in Claire’s ear, then brushed past her to help Brianna with the food. 

Claire bit her lip, her cheeks flushing from more than just her proximity to the growing blaze. 

“You and yer mam will go to Broch Mordha tomorrow for more supplies,” Jamie told Brianna as he helped her to carefully toast but not burn her bread near the open flames. “Food and tools and whatever ye need for cleaning.”

“What are you going to do while we’re gone?” Brianna asked, blowing on the bread to cool it enough to handle. Some sliced ham sat on a plate with cheese melting on top of it, waiting for the second piece of bread to be ready. 

“I’ll be taking stock of what will be needed for the larger tasks—the roof, the windows as are broken, the outbuildings—”

“The stairs,” Claire added. “We’ll need those fixed so we can see the state up there.”

Jamie helped Brianna assemble her sandwich before licking his fingers and taking a lantern over to examine the state of the staircase. 

“It’s just the one step,” he said, climbing the first three to gauge the state of the wood and get a closer look at the broken one. 

More than just the riser and the tread were damaged; the underlying support had splintered and there were cracks in the boards where the balusters were secured. The several surrounding steps would need to be replaced for it to be fixed properly and to his satisfaction. But… for those with long enough legs and trusty enough balance… He put his foot down and listened to the creak as he added weight. It would hold for a night. 

“I’ll need a few planks for this and a hammer and nails. Ye should be able to find those in the morning when ye’re out and I can repair it when ye return. Start small,” Jamie declared turning to rejoin them by the fire and share supper. 

He looked to Claire as Brianna devoured her sandwich and saw the question in Claire’s eyes. He gave a subtle nod and she smiled back, then turned her attention to her own food, commenting on what a wonderful job Brianna had done with her toasting. 

When they were finished, the sun had long set and even their brief time cleaning had helped to exhaust Brianna. They ushered her to bed and lay waiting for her to drift to sleep while the fire burned down in the hearth. 

At last Jamie eased himself up and crept back to the stairs. If they could hold him, they would hold Claire. She sat up and watched as Jamie skipped two steps to get himself over the broken stair. Brianna sighed at the noise but didn’t stir more than that. Jamie nodded to Claire from the stairs and she rose and grabbed one of the torches, reaching up the steps and handing it to Jamie before bypassing the broken step and following him the rest of the way to the second floor. 

They paused at the top of the stairs, looking down over the railing—though not leaning on it for fear it might prove unsturdy—and watched Brianna sleep for a few moments. She’d curled up on her side with her blanket tucked up over her shoulder and the edge clutched tight in the opposite hand, holding it firmly in place. 

“She used to sleep exactly like that when she was a toddler,” Claire whispered. “I’d lay her on her back, spread her blanket over her, and when I came to check on her later it looked like she was trying to steal the covers back from her teddy bear.”

Jamie chuckled and gave Claire’s arm a gentle nudge to urge her away from the banner. Claire turned on the torch and illuminated the corridor for the first time. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and the corners of some of the doorways, but there didn’t appear to be major structural damage. 

“It never felt like quite so many rooms,” Claire remarked, walking slowly and moving the beam of light over the empty walls and open doors. “Bree will have fun picking which one is hers.”

“Well there are two she’ll no have the option of,” Jamie said, taking Claire’s hand to tug her the other way and toward a familiar room. 

“The Laird’s room,” Claire murmured with a smile. “No, she can’t have that one. But what’s the other?”

“Either that one,” he took hold of Claire’s wrist to direct the torch to the room next to the Laird’s room, “ or that one,” he moved it to the door across the way. “One of those will need to be the nursery, no?”

Claire hummed as she slid her free hand up Jamie’s arm and leaned back against him. 

“If we use this one for the nursery…” she said, pushing her way into the room immediately next to the Laird’s room. “We should be able to take that shared wall and put a door in it between the two rooms.”

She felt Jamie’s nod brush her hair. “Then ye’ll no need to pass into the passageway to get to the bairn in the night if ye hear him cry.”

“Oh,  _ I’m _ the only one who’ll be getting the baby in the night, am I?”

“If I dinna have to go into the hall to get there, I may fetch him for ye, now and again,” Jamie responded, more obviously teasing. He began walking her to the door of the Laird’s room. “This is where the rest of our bairns will be conceived… born… raised,” he mused, pressing light kisses to her temple, cheek, and neck. 

The walls were a mess. Paint had been applied over wallpaper at some point and then attempts made to strip both. The mantle over the hearth was cracked and blackened with smoke as was the ceiling. The floors were in good shape, though coated with a thick layer of dust. The shells of insects lay on their backs on the windowsill. 

Jamie and Claire didn’t see much of it with their attention more on one another and their feet leading them on a familiar path across the floor to where their bed once stood—where it would stand again. 

“Born here?” Claire asked with muffled surprise. She turned in Jamie’s arms so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. “As  _ I _ will be the one giving birth, I think I get to insist that any birthing happen at the nearest hospital with a proper medical staff on hand. But I have no objections to raising our children here and as for where they’re conceived…” She let her hand slide down his chest and under the waistband of his trousers. 

He gasped when she took hold of him then growled low in her ear as she stroked him with a firm touch. Claire bit her lip and looked up at him. Her other arm was draped around his neck, still holding the torch. The light bobbed on the wall as Jamie rocked along to the rhythm Claire set. 

He took the hand with the torch and brought it up over his head, forcing Claire to take a step back, to release her hold on him. Jamie took the torch from her and sank to his knees before her. The torch cast strange shadows as he put it down and it rolled across the floor. 

Neither cared. Jamie focused on unfastening Claire’s trousers and pulling every layer of fabric down past her knees. She grabbed his shoulders for balance. Feeling his breath on her thighs threatened to topple her. He got her trousers off along with her shoes and then Claire hastened to undo the buttons down the front of her shirt but Jamie’s hands slid up the backs of her thighs until he hitched one of her legs over his shoulder and she reflexively reached back, finding the wall only inches away. It was his nose first, and then the warm, damp tip of his tongue trailing up her inner thigh until she felt his cool breath stir against her heated flesh.

His tongue made her toes curl and her head met the wall as she arched back and dug her fingernails into the wall. 

When he paused a moment to let her recover, Claire pushed herself off the wall with surprising force and swung her leg down. Jamie laughed and remained on his knees as Claire braced her hands on his shoulders until her knees were stead enough for her to lower herself to his level. He rocked back on his heels and then fell onto his arse as she greedily pushed his trousers down, leaving them when they got tangled around his knees. 

Her shirt fell open and he got a close look at the satin of her bra, which had shifted in her hasty attempts to remove her shirt. She slid down his body until her knees were planted on either side of his legs and he could pull her thighs open wider by easing his own apart. Her arms were wound around his neck, holding her against him. With a slight shift of her weight and his hand as a guide, she took him into her. 

Then moved slowly, the floorboards creaking under them. Jamie’s hands refused to stay put as Claire rocked her hips and arched her back. They were in her hair then tracing her spine and cupping her buttocks, anchoring himself in her and pulling himself deeper while she rose higher and sank lower with each buck of his hips. 

He would have marks in his shoulders from her fingernails digging. Her hips and thighs would ache for two days with the strain of opening for him. They would struggle against the need to rest against each other, still joined, and dawdle until their sweat cooled and their muscles locked. Brianna would notice them missing so they must help one another, trembling, to their feet then take turns leaning against each other, adjusting grimy clothes and swirling the dust on the floor to conceal their tracks. 


	43. Without Self Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gives his last lecture at the Inverness library and is left unsettled by the questions a member of the audience has for him afterward.

Frank kept the grin pasted on his face as he nodded to Miss Allaway and her raised hand. Her smile and the glint in her eye continued to unsettle him. 

“Is this the last lecture?” she asked, not with disappointment but almost with a challenge in the words. 

“This is  _ my _ last lecture in this series, though if I might defer to Miss Shaw,” he answered, turning to the librarian at the side of the room, “I believe there are still several lectures in the next few weeks.”

“Yes,” Muriel Shaw said, stepping forward. Frank took the opportunity to hastily begin putting away his notes as an indication he was through talking. “We have a lecture next Tuesday evening on the poetry and literature of Scotland from  _ Treasure Island _ ‘To a Mouse,’ and then next Saturday evening, we have a botany lecture scheduled.” Muriel announced. “Printed copies of the latest edition of the lecture schedule are available on that table there and at the front desk if ye only ask. Thank ye all for coming and may ye enjoy the rest of yer evening.” 

There was a grateful round of applause that trailed into the scrapping of chairs as the audience rose to leave. 

Muriel surprised Frank when a moment later she was standing right next to him straightening his notes for him. “It looks like yer  _ friend _ is comin’ for a wee gab,” she said under her breath and keeping her head down when Frank reflexively looked up to see Miss Allaway striding toward them. 

“Ah, Miss… Allaway was it?” he feigned forgetfulness. 

“It was.” She gave a brief flash of her left hand and the gold band that overshadowed the meager engagement ring Frank had noted the last few times she’d approached him after his lectures. “It’s Gillian  _ Edgars _ now.”

“Congratulations.”

“And so ye’re leaving us after tonight,” Mrs. Edgars remarked, switching subjects. “Off to bigger and better things? I ken ye havena said all ye’ve learnt on the subject.”

“Off to prepare for the coming term,” he informed her. “And you’re correct—there’s a great deal more to be said on each of the topics I’ve covered. Enough to keep the four classes I’ll be teaching this fall busy.”

“Would ye perhaps be willing to lead a smaller  _ private _ discussion similar to what ye’ve done here?”

“Private?”

“Have ye heard of the White Roses of Scotland?” she asked. “I’ve mentioned yer lectures and yer experience to a few members. Convinced some of them to stop in on yer last lecture and there were more here tonight. We might be interested in havin’ ye address the group in the near future.”

“I don’t know that my schedule will allow it for some time yet,” Frank said, hoping that would be the end of it. Every time this young woman approached him, he felt uneasy in ways he couldn’t pin down. 

“Here’s where ye can reach me when ye change yer mind.” She had the address and phone number ready for him. With no polite reason he could see for declining, Frank took the paper with a nod and shoved it into his pocket. He could dispose of it later but something about Mrs. Edgars told him it didn’t matter whether he kept it or threw it away; she would find him and repeat the question again, likely until she received the answer she desired. 

He expected her to walk away but she continued to stand and watch him stack his papers. 

“Is there something else?”

“I was just thinking… Yer last name is Randall? Ye’re… by any chance are ye related to the Claire Randall that disappeared near here on holiday some years back? It would ha’ been about the time the war ended.” Mrs. Edgars’ eyes flicked to Frank’s hand and the gold band he still wore. 

The papers he held were already aligned but he continued tapping them against the surface of the podium while he weighed his response carefully. Remembering that time stung like lemon juice on a healing papercut. There was no reason for him to share his life’s story with this young woman, however.

“She was my wife,” he answered simply and reached for the stack of notes Muriel offered him. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded curtly to Mrs. Edgars and carried his lecture materials back to the side room where his coat and other things waited for him. 

Muriel was a few steps behind him and closed the door. He didn’t bother to look and see if Mrs. Edgars was still standing where he’d left her or if she’d taken the hint and left. 

“She is an odd one,” Muriel commented as she bustled about the small back room, straightening things and preparing to close up for the night. “Has a quick mind from what I’ve heard but her interests leave something to be desired.”

“What was that White Roses group she mentioned?” Frank asked, making sure he had everything in his briefcase. “I don’t know that I’ve heard of them before.”

“They’re a group that want Scotland independent but from what I’ve seen, they dinna have much of a plan for how to make that happen in a meaningful way. They spend more time looking back at what was and how we might be now if only. It helps to ken the history but wishing it were what it’s not doesna put ye on a steady path forward.”

Frank hummed in agreement. “Knowing where it all went wrong and being unable to change it can be maddening. Still, it sounds like a fascinating group and if they’re inspired to educate themselves about the history as part of their objectives…”

“They’re a growing group and mostly young people. If ye were thinking to poke in and see a meeting but dinna wish to do so where Mrs. Edgars might find ye, there’s like to be a branch of them near yer university,” Muriel suggested.

“That’s a thought.” Frank shrugged into his suit jacket while Muriel waited with her light coat draped over one of her arms. 

“I wish ye a safe journey back to Edinburgh, Professor Randall,” she said with a quiet smile. “Yer lectures have revived folk’s interest in our library here. It’s a shame we must lose ye.” 

“As a speaker, yes, but you won’t lose me as a patron. The university library is extensive but I have it on good authority from the Reverend Wakefield that this library is in possession of some rare primary source records and has an extensive archive as well.” He checked through the window briefly to be sure the lecture audience had left in its entirety then opened the door and held it for Muriel.

Her smile widened as he pulled the door closed behind them again and waited for her to lock it.

“Ye’ve heard correct, Professor Randall. And I suppose ye’ll be stayin’ in Inverness from time to time to see yer lass.”

“Whenever my schedule allows.  _ And _ when my ex-wife and her husband agree.”

“Is yer ex-wife the same one Mrs. Edgars asked after? The one that went missing or—I’m sorry. I didna mean to eavesdrop and it was rude of me to ask,” she interrupted herself and refused to meet his eye as they continued walking to the front desk. 

“It’s all right,” Frank assured her and was relieved to realize he meant it. Mrs. Edgars’ questions about it pried in an unsettling way. Muriel’s felt interested and genuine. “And yes, I’ve only ever been married to Claire. I was left by the same woman twice,” he declared without self-pity for what was almost certainly the first time. “And for the same man twice too, so there’s some comfort in that—or I suppose there should be.”

“But ye’re on good terms with her or ye wouldna be able to see yer daughter so much as ye do,” Muriel reminded him. “That’s another comfort I’m sure. Do ye have special plans for yer time with her this weekend?” Muriel switched off the lights and locked the library’s front doors, slipping the keys into her handbag with a cheerful rattle. 

“Bree has been pushing to bring me to see the horse they bought her for her birthday,” Frank explained with an obvious note of trepidation. Muriel politely refrained from commenting on the gift Frank so clearly disapproved of, waiting instead for him to continue with her head “At the moment, the horse is stabled at the farm where my ex-wife’s husband now works and where Bree has been spending a great deal of her summer holidays. They’ll both be there as well. According to Claire, Bree intends to make a day of it for all of us complete with a picnic luncheon.”

Muriel nodded, her lips pressed tight together with amusement pulling the ends upwards.

“I wish ye the best of luck with that and the next time ye stop in, ye’ll need to tell me how it goes.”

“I shall endeavor to be on my best behavior so I come off well in the retelling.” The thought of the next day still weighed awkwardly on his shoulders but it wasn’t as heavy as it had been. 

“Farewell for now then, Professor Randall.”

“Yes. Farewell for now, Miss Shaw.” He gave her a nod before drifting to his car, which was parked at the opposite end of the car park. 

* * *

“You have to watch,” Brianna instructed as Claire helped her with the helmet it was a rule she wear. Jamie had rolled his eyes when Claire brought it up but after the first time Brianna nearly fell from Thistle, he had become even more adamant she wear it when riding.

Frank had already taken up a position along the paddock fence. “I promise I will watch every step.”

“Good,” Brianna said with satisfaction as she turned back to face the barn. Thistle snorted as Jamie led her out and over to the crate Brianna used as a stepping block. 

Claire stepped back to let Jamie and Brianna follow their practiced routine. He held the horse still while Brianna pulled herself up onto the saddle, throwing her leg over and adjusting her posture based of Jamie’s guiding comments. If there was a signal they gave one another to say they were ready, Frank couldn’t see it. Jamie made a noise and the horse began to walk forward to the paddock gate. 

Claire moved to stand beside Frank along the fence and watched as Jamie kept hold of the reins while Brianna clutched Thistle’s mane. They walked once around the paddock before stopping so Jamie could hand the reins up to Brianna. She then proceeded to walk Thistle around a second time at the same pace while Jamie called instructions to her. 

“She really enjoys it, doesn’t she,” Frank remarked, smiling to match Brianna’s each time she looked over to be sure he was watching. 

Claire grinned too. “She does. And it’s helping her self-discipline. She brushes her, mucks her stall, and practices with her as often as she can. The structure and responsibility were exactly what she needed with all the changes that were going on around her. Thistle’s kept her grounded.”

Frank only made a sound somewhere between a hum and a sigh. 

“Will you really have the space for the horse at this Lallybroch you’ve bought?”

Claire half laughed. “There’s certainly space enough. Jamie has plans to restore it to the estate farm it was before the Rising.” She did laugh then, “Along with the help of modern technology, of course.”

Frank nodded, his eyes still on Brianna as she pushed the horse from a steady canter into a trot. 

“Speaking of Lallybroch,” Claire continued, her tone shifting. “I know your lectures at the Inverness library have finished. But Jamie and I will be needing some weekends without Brianna if we’re to make significant progress on Lallybroch before the winter weather sets in. It’s something that simply isn’t practical in terms of keeping her occupied and once the school term starts, she’ll need a quiet and reliable place where she can complete her assignments… So if you’re interested, perhaps she can spend some weekends with you. She can take the train after school on Friday and you can send her back on Sunday afternoon—I think she’s old enough to make the journey herself, though perhaps we could meet you at a stop halfway the first few times until we’re all comfortable with the arrangement…”

Frank’s response of, “That sounds lovely,” underwhelmed Claire.

“After months of asking for Bree to be allowed to visit you in Edinburgh so you can see her for more than just a few hours, that’s all you have to say?” she snapped, finally catching his attention. “Did you even hear me? I’m saying you can have Bree in Edinburgh with you a few weekends between now and when winter sets in.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you. And you’re certain he’ll agree to it?”

“He’s hesitant about the train but he appreciates the efficiency of it… Are you all right? Your mind seems to be elsewhere,” Claire remarked, watching Frank as he turned back to lean on the fence once more.

“One of the young ladies who has attended these lectures came up after I’d finished to ask whether I’d be willing to speak for some group she’s involved in,” Frank explained.

“That sounds lovely,” Claire parroted his earlier response but he missed it. 

“She’s very… strange. Unsettling. I’m not sure what it is about her. Though, it didn’t help that she asked about you.”

“About me? Why should she even know who I am?” Claire asked, sincerely baffled. 

“She had heard about your disappearance and wanted to know if I knew you since we shared the name Randall.” 

“I’m sure there are plenty of people who remember when that all… happened.”

“Did you ever meet anyone else who was like you? When you were there with him, I mean.” 

“Only one I know for certain was a…  _ traveler _ . She was called Geillis Duncan but she won’t pass through the stones for close to another decade. It’s probably chance as much as anything that we encountered each other where and when we did.”

“You didn’t talk about it with her?” Frank asked, turning away from watching Brianna as she slowed Thistle down and let Jamie come to walk alongside her as they started for the paddock gate, finished with their exercises for the morning. 

“We discovered the truth about one another too late. I narrowly escaped the witch trial in Cranesmuir with my life. She was convicted and held for execution. Geillis was pregnant at the time so they waited until after the baby was born. All she told me was 1968.”

“I don’t suppose it happens often or some journalist would have written about it by now.”

“It happened often enough for it to become legend,” Claire pointed out. “But I’m certain there aren’t many who would believe the truth now.” She gave him a meaningful look before turning to greet Brianna and Jamie having successfully emerged from the paddock with Thistle.

“Did you see, did you see?” Brianna crowed, running toward them as soon as her feet hit the ground.

“Would have to be blind to miss how wonderful you looked up there,” Frank assured her. “Now, it looks as though you’ve forgotten there’s someone who needs you to look after her before we can have our picnic.”

“Come on, Daddy,” Brianna said grabbing Frank’s hand and pulling him in the direction of the stable. Jamie was already leading the horse through the open doors with his free arm around Claire’s shoulders. “I want to show you her stall and what I have to do when I’m done riding her.” 


	44. Casting About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie wants to spend some quality time with Brianna that actually involves getting her to open up and talk.

As the summer holidays were winding to an end, Jamie wanted to do something different with Brianna. 

“We’ve spent near every day together at the farm,” he told Claire, “but we dinna talk about much more’n the horses and how Lallybroch will be when it’s finished. I feel like…”

“Like she saves the real conversations for when she’s with Frank?” Claire asked, reading Jamie’s mind.

“She’s settled into the situation now wi’ the three of us and she’s more open than I would ha’ thought given how it was between us when the two of ye first arrived. But it’s still no quite what I’d like it to be.”

“You need to find something that doesn’t include a lot of distraction,” Claire advised. “When you’re at the farm, the horses and your work give you  _ both _ excuses to avoid talking about deeper matters.” She didn’t have any suggestions for him in terms of suitable activities, but when he came to her with ideas, there was one she thought would be particularly effective.

* * *

“You want to go fishing?” Brianna asked, her reluctance and skepticism evident in the angle of her eyebrows and their proximity to her hairline.

“Aye. Have ye done it before?” Jamie asked as he searched the closet for their tall, waterproof boots. He would have liked to just wade in barefoot and take their chances but Claire insisted it was too dangerous because you never knew when you might come across broken glass or other harmful garbage people threw away.

“No,” Brianna admitted. “But isn’t it basically just standing around near the water with a stick? Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

Jamie shook his head and smiled. “Standing wi’ a stick? There’s more to it than that. There’s an  _ art _ to it—reading the water, learning where the fish will be and why. No to mention tyin’ flies and casting, fighting wi’ em when ye’ve got one caught and ye need to pull him in.”

Brianna continued to look at him blankly, unconvinced. Jamie pulled the boots from the closet and set Brianna’s in front of her. 

“Do we even own a tackle box? A fishing rod?”

“We’ll stop at the store on our way and see what we find,” Jamie assured her, slipping his boots on easily.

Brianna sighed and pulled on her boots then went to her room. Jamie frowned as he waited. “I told ye, we’ll stop by the sto—”

She emerged with a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. 

“And what is it ye’ve got there?”

“A change of clothes,” Brianna told him, heading for the door. “I’m  _ not _ walking around smelling like worms and fish when we’re through.”

* * *

“Are you gonna get one or not?” Brianna whined as they stood in the store, staring at the line of fishing rods.

Jamie hadn’t expected it would be this difficult but there were close to a dozen choices and all of them looked intensely complicated compared to everything he’d ever used to catch fish. The flies were intricate in a familiar way, the materials used to create them different but the underlying artistry the same. But the fishing rods…

He lifted one and weighed it in his hand, running a thumb over the reel. He wasn’t sure what the button did but the crank moved smoothly. The line felt strange between his fingers—not any fiber he recognized—and he couldn’t pull more out. Something inside the mechanism held it tight. 

“They all look the same,” Brianna complained again. “Just get one and let’s go.” 

“Here,” he said, handing her the rod. “How does it feel? Is it too heavy?” 

Brianna sighed but played with it a bit. She turned the crank and then pushed the button. The line dropped from the tip of the pole and crashing to the floor under the weight of the hook embedded in cork at the end. They both jumped.

Jamie grabbed it back and quickly turned the crank, reeling the line back in while glancing around to be sure no one noticed. Brianna stifled a giggle. 

“Aye, this’ll do,” Jamie muttered. “Let’s get it and go.”

They brought it to the salesman and looked briefly at one another, struggling not to laugh, when the man asked if they needed any instruction on how to work the reel. 

“Ye push the button to let it out, aye?” Jamie confirmed.

The salesman assured them, “That’s correct. Do ye no want a box fer the rest of yer tackle?”

“We’ll carry it ourselves, thank ye,” Jamie told the man as he handed some items to Brianna and carried the pole himself. The salesman looked at him oddly. Jamie wanted to get out of the store and to the privacy of the water.

* * *

They made their way awkwardly through town toward the river and then slowly down the bank to the water’s edge. They were the only ones in sight along the stretch and Jamie sighed with contentment. When he’d first arrived and heard how noisy the twentieth century was, he expected it to drive him mad with distraction. After a little more than a year, he found he was able to filter out much of the sound so that it didn’t draw his attention as much. But with the water rushing by at their feet, all those sounds were swept away and he when he closed his eyes and breathed deep, he could almost believe he was back in the Scotland he’d left two hundred years in the past.

“So how do we get the thing on the line?” Brianna asked, depositing the packet containing the new pole’s accessories onto a nearby rock. 

Jamie turned to his daughter and the task of preparing a fishing line with unfamiliar tools. 

“I’ve never used one like this,” he confessed as he created the necessary knot to attach the store-bought fly. The line felt strange in his fingers but he could have tied the familiar knot itself with his eyes closed. 

“Are fish really dumb enough to think that’s a bug?” Brianna frowned at what looked like colorful fluff tied into place with string. 

“This one isna so good as one ye might tie yerself, but it’ll do to start,” Jamie assured her.

“You can make one of those?” Brianna asked with surprise and awe.

“Wi’ the right materials. Though I’d make it look more like a true  _ bug _ , as ye say. But no, it’s how it moved more’n how it looks that matters. When it lands on the water, it will land the way a fly does and lookin’ up from below as the fish do, they cannae see the thing itself, only the ripples and how it moves on the surface. If  _ that _ resembles a fly or gnat or some such, it’ll strike first and decide whether or no it was a good idea to swallow after it’s too late.”

“How do you make it move like a bug then?”

“Watch,” Jamie said with a smirk he immediately regretted as they stood and Brianna took a step back. The clerk at the shop had said to push the button to release the line… 

The line fell suddenly to the wet stones and mud at his feet. 

“Aye,” he muttered under his breath, turning the crank to reel the line back in. 

On the second attempt he began to swing the pole, then hit the button but he hit it too late so the line only went out a few feet. 

“Stand further back,” Jamie requested of Brianna as he prepared another attempt. 

This time he let the button go too soon and the line locked with the pole still in motion. As he halted his cast, the fly with its hook came jerking back at his head. He ducked but the fly lodged in his hair and he felt the bite of the hook as it caught in his scalp. 

“ _ Ifrinn! _ ” he cried, reaching for his head.

“Da, are you all right?” Brianna asked, approaching him with her eyes wide and her lips twitching to laugh. 

“Aye.”

“Here. Let me.” 

He bent his head toward her so she could disentangle the fly from his hair and ease the sharp point of the hook from where it had lodged and pulled at the skin. 

“You’re bleeding but it’s not a lot. You’ll hear about it from Mama when we get home,” Brianna informed him as he straightened up again and dabbed at the spot before checking his fingers. “Just pray she doesn’t want to give you a tetanus shot.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Can… I try?” Brianna asked, eyeing the fishing rod. 

Jamie hesitated then reached into the packet of tackle and pulled out a small bit of cork, embedding the barbed hook into it before handing the pole to Brianna. 

“I dinna think we’ll worry about more than casting today.”

They took turns after that getting a feel for how and when to push the button while swinging the pole to cast properly. Aside from the scratch to Jamie’s head, the only other casualty proved to be a skinned palm as he caught himself tripping backwards over a rock to keep Brianna from smacking him in the face as she swung her arm too wide. 

Eventually they mastered the intricacies of the fishing rod and Jamie dared to remove the protective cork from the hook to try it again. 

“Ye want to cast upstream and let the water bring it to the fish,” he told Brianna as he flicked the line out into the river. It wasn’t as clean as he would have liked, but it was in the intended area. He let the line sit for a moment before adding, “They’re no likely to bite with all the fuss we’ve made so far.”

“Do you think we can wait them out?” Brianna looked hopefully up at Jamie, excited now that they’d finally mastered casting. 

“It could be a while,” he warned, “and it’s no a guarantee they’ll bite even if we do.”

Brianna shrugged. “I want to at least get a nibble before we go home.”

“Then I suppose we can just talk to pass the time,” Jamie suggested, keeping his eyes on the line as it drifted downstream from where it had gone in. He kept the smile on his face small but it shone from his eyes out over the water. 

Brianna’s eyes scanned the river’s surface searching for the line.

“Who taught you to fish?” she asked. 

“My da. He took me and my brother, Willie, to a small loch near Lallybroch. I was such a wee thing I couldna do much more’n watch but bein’ there wi’ the two of them while Jenny stayed at the house wi’ our mam… Twas a grand feeling to be included wi’ the menfolk like that.” Jamie tugged gently on the line and then let it go slack again. 

“What other sorts of things did you do with Willie and Jenny?”

Jamie sighed and glanced down at Brianna. He’d been hoping to get her to open up to him, not face an interrogation. 

Perhaps feeling his eyes on her, she turned to look up at him. 

“I was the youngest by several years,” he confessed. “Whatever Willie was about, I wanted to be tryin’ it too. He must ha’ been tired of me but I dinna recall him ever bein’ short wi’ me or teasin’ or pushin’ me around… But I was so young and then when he died… I wonder sometimes if I misremember him and how he was. Or maybe he was so good wi’ me because I was still so young and hadna reached an age where we would ha’ fought each other.”

“Did you fight with Auntie Jenny?”

Jamie couldn’t help but smile. “All the time. She was the woman of the house when Mam passed and I was old enough then no to want to follow her say so and she was young enough to want to fight me back. But we loved each other fierce and that was always at the heart of it, even when we yelled and said horrible things to each other, deep down we didna mean it.”

He moved closer to Brianna to hand her the fishing rod and guide her hand as she turned the reel to pull in some of the line. 

“Why d’ye ask?” he said cautiously. The memories were bittersweet for him but there was a thoughtfulness in Brianna’s face that surprised him.

“I never had aunts or uncles before,” she said simply. “I mean… I don’t  _ really _ have them now. But neither Mama or Daddy even had stories about brothers and sisters. I’ve always wondered what it would be like.” 

“I’m sorry ye didna have a chance to meet them.” He was sorry about that for more than her sake. “Yer Auntie Jenny would have loved to meet ye… and yer Uncle Ian.” How many times had Jenny gently touched the bruise of his grief to see if he had healed enough to consider a second marriage, a second chance at family and fatherhood? She’d never know his second chance had come and it had been with Claire. She’d never see the lass that looked like their mother and bore their father’s name. And Ian. Jamie didn’t know what he would have done without his closest friend to lean on during those times when being stuck in the cave beyond usefulness was most maddening, when Jenny’s well-intentioned nudges threatened to send him over a cliff. 

“Are you and Mama going to have another baby?” Brianna asked, shattering Jamie’s concentration. It was a good thing she had a firm grip on the fishing rod because Jamie lost his hold on it entirely. 

“What? No—that is… Not right now. Why?”

“Well, one of the girl’s at school said that’s what happens. People get married and then they have a baby. And you and Mama got married not that long ago…” 

“Ah, I see.” Some of the tension loosened in Jamie’s shoulders and he was able to focus on the slow pace at which Brianna reeled in the line. “That really depends on the couple. No everyone has babies as soon as they’re married. And yer mam and I… well, we have  _ you _ .”

Brianna looked back at him from the side of her eye in a way that told him she was willing to drop the point rather than press but that she also wasn’t satisfied with his answer.

So he pressed for her. “Do you think you’d like a wee brother or sister?”

Her hand moved even slower on the crank for the reel. “You’re a bit old for it, aren’t you? How much older than you was Willie? Was it more than ten?”

“Willie was five years older than me… but he would ha’ been near yer age when my younger brother, Robert was born.” Jamie’s voice dropped close to a whisper as he mentioned Robert—the brother he’d only ever seen lying still, tucked into his mother’s unmoving arms. William had been gone for close to two years when Robert and his mother had died together. 

“Robert?” Brianna asked, her eyes going wide with confusion. 

Jamie shook his head slowly, giving himself time to swallow and be sure he could speak without his voice breaking. “He died with my mother at his birth.” For a moment he wanted to tell Brianna about Faith, her own sister who had died at birth, but he would not do that without Claire who could answer questions Jamie couldn’t. 

Brianna let silence fall between them and focused on keeping still as the fishing line drew closer and closer to them. They hadn’t received any nibbles yet so Jamie helped her go through the motions necessary for another cast. The fly went further than the last attempt and no one was skewered by the hook so they continued to wait for just one fish to bite. 

“I haven’t been around babies much before. I used to see them at the hospital in Boston when I went to visit Mama at work. They have a whole nursery full of them. But I never got to hold them or had do anything but look at them,” Brianna confessed. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at being a sister.” 

“Speaking as a younger brother, ye’ll no have to do much. Babes are born with the love for ye in their hearts. Ye’ll ken what to do when the time comes.” 

Brianna looked mildly reassured but still a bit wary.

The fishing pole jerked in her hands and the subject vanished from their thoughts for the time being as Jamie worked to help Brianna tug the pole in just the right way so the nibbling fish would be properly hooked. 

The line came in slowly with regular jerks until halfway back to them when the line suddenly went slack. Brianna reeled it in the rest of the way but the fly on the end had vanished. 

“Damn thing snapped the line,” Jamie remarked. “We’ll need a fresh fly for next time.”


	45. A Promising Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the new term begins, Frank approaches his colleagues with some inquiries.

“The secretary said ye wished to see me, Professor Randall.” Professor Cameron Atchison set aside the stack of lecture schedules that he’d been puzzling over for the better part of an hour. How three classes had found themselves booked in the same room for the same two-hour block every week and no one had noticed the overlap until the first week of classes…

“Yes, sir,” Frank nodded taking a seat on the other side of Atchison’s desk.

“Ye’re settling in well then?”

“Yes. I’ve had the summer to arrange my living situation and prepare for the term,” Frank explained with a forced smile. There was nothing for it but to wade through the small talk it seemed. It was in keeping with what Frank recalled of his introductory meeting with the head of the history department but he’d hoped the pressures and obligations accompanying the start of term would force Professor Atchison to focus better.

“I had word from the folk up Inverness way that yer visiting lectures were a success,” Atchison grinned. “Let’s hope they prove so popular with yer students.”

“Thank you. The organizers did a fantastic job coordinating with the librarians at Inverness in arranging it all.” He smiled as he recalled how prepared Miss Shaw had been, especially in handling the audience at the end of each lecture, Miss Allaway—rather Mrs. Edgars—in particular. “As a matter of fact, one of the questions I have for you arose as a result of those lectures.”

Atchison’s brows rose with surprise and interest. He leaned back in his chair and rested his folded hands over the slight swell of his stomach. The sweater vest he wore beneath his suit jacket had ridden up a little, exposing a strip of pale-blue shirt and one matching button near the waistband of his trousers. 

“There was a group who came to each of my lectures in Inverness and after the last I was approached by one of them and invited me to give them additional, private lectures in greater depth,” Frank explained.

“I dinna need to remind ye that ye’re contracted with the university here for at least five years.”

Frank shook his head. “I didn’t accept. The young woman who spoke to me said she was part of a group called the White Roses of Scotland. I was simply wondering if you knew anything about them.”

Atchison nodded slowly, pondering. “Well… they’re one of the groups beginning to arise these days interested in resurrecting an independent Scotland.”

“Miss Shaw—one of the librarians at Inverness—said as much. She seemed skeptical about their prospects.”

“There are chapters here and there about the country but they dinna have a great deal of organization between them yet,” Atchison conceded. “They might dissipate before they can make more than a few ripples but if they can get themselves to the same page, the ripples might stand a chance of becomin’ waves. Though I must say, I’m inclined to agree with yer Miss Shaw. There’s spirit and nostalgia to be sure but no enough need driving ‘em. Ye’ve studied enough history to know that while the writing says battles are fought for ideology, there’s always more tangible reasons behind it. Someday, perhaps, but I dinna think Scotland is there yet, nor like to be for quite some time.”

“That is my thinking as well,” Frank informed Atchison. “I admire their interest in history and am happy to have shared my knowledge with them, but for the time being, my focus is on the work at hand.”

“As it should be,” Atchison nodded firmly with approval. “I do believe ye said there were two matters ye wished to discuss.”

“Yes, the second is to do with some artwork. There is a series of portraits in the gallery in London that came to my attention. I should like to contact the owner who’s loaned them to the museum but have encountered some obstacles as far as obtaining the name. Is there anyone here I might speak with who could offer some advice along those lines…” 

“There’s a Professor Irving in art history ye should speak with about that. He has contacts at most of the art museums in Scotland and England and frequently makes arrangements for academic purposes. Ask the secretary on yer way out and she’ll look up for ye which office is Irving’s.”

“Thank you, sir,” Frank said, pushing himself up from the chair.

“Have ye a mind to use these portraits in yer next publication?” The reminder in the look Atchison gave Frank weighed on him more than he would have liked. 

A significant factor in his being hired was the reputation Frank brought with him having published two books during his time at Harvard. The university wanted him to have a draft of another completed within a year and a half of his taking the post. Frank hadn’t even settled on a topic for the proposed new book.

“That will depend on what my research yields,” Frank responded vaguely enough to satisfy Atchison before ducking out and leaving the department head to wrestle with the conflicting schedules once more.

* * *

Frank found Professor Irving surprisingly organized and to the point.

“The National Portrait Gallery,” the other man nodded. 

“Yes. The portraits I’m interested in appear to be part of a collection and are all on loan from the same private owner, a Mr. R. Masters,” Frank explained. “The museum—understandably—has refused to give out any personal information about him and attempts to pass notes through them to him have gone unanswered.”

“Who did you speak to at the museum? Have you been able to get in touch with the director? Adams is a reasonable man. I’m sure if you speak with him and explain that it’s concerning academic work—”

“It’s not…  _ purely _ academic,” Frank hedged. Professor Irving’s head tilted with interest and he raised his hands, tenting his fingers and tapping the tips of his long middle fingers together. “My daughter came across them on a trip she took… with my ex-wife. She wants to learn more about them and she’s asked me to help her.”

Professor Irving smiled. “How old is your daughter?”

“Bree will be eleven in November.”

Professor Irving nodded. “I have three myself—all girls. Oldest just turned thirteen and my youngest is six.”

Frank smiled. “I’m already starting to miss those younger years,” Frank commiserated. “She would come to my office at Harvard after she was through at school and sat across the desk from me drawing and pretending she was grading papers like me.” 

“My youngest is the only one who will still join me at the museums. I am too boring for the others. But my Linda… she doesn’t mind so long as I carry her when her legs grow tired. She will count all the animals she sees in the paintings or try to find all the species of flower she knows or some such game… This… It sounds like something she would do,” Professor Irving said with obvious amusement.

He stood up from his desk and crossed to a shelf with what looked like several ledgers. He took one down and returned to the desk, flipping through it. 

“Adams,” he said, “is the director at the National Portrait Gallery. He’s been in the post close to ten years now so I’ve met him on a number of occasions. I will give him a call and see what I can get for you about the owner.”

“Thank you,” Frank said with a grin. He was scheduled to speak with Brianna that night and couldn’t wait to hear how excited the news would make her. He’d need to take care to hedge her expectations and remind her she was sworn to secrecy until they knew more. 

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure as to the portraits’ names but she was sure that the name with them is R. Masters. There are three of three of them…”

“A series you said,” Professor Irving nodded, taking notes on a yellow pad next to the ledger that appeared to have not just contact information for the people within, but personal notes and profiles of them as well. 

“Yes, and there’s a resemblance between the subjects that suggests a family collection. Two portraits with children—two boys and a girl—and then one that appears to be their mother or aunt.”

“The name should be enough but if Adams hesitates, I can tell him you’re interested in those specific works for research purposes.” He looked up at Frank with a conspiratorial smile. “Most families wealthy enough to own those sorts of portraits—to say nothing of  _ loaning _ them to high profile museums—are understanding and even eager to cooperate with academics. So long as you have no intention of  _ touching _ their art, they’ll talk your ear off, if not about the history of the work, then the history of how  _ they _ acquired it or the cost of keeping and maintaining it.”

Frank laughed as he stood to depart.

“I don’t think I can thank you enough for this,” he said. “I look forward to hearing what you’re able to learn from Director Adams. If you need anything more from me at all, you need only telephone.”

Professor Irving remained seated at his desk, smiling and nodding in farewell as Frank took his leave. He continued making notes on the yellow pad, glancing to the reference ledger.

As he passed down the hall and turned toward the stairs that would take him to his own office, Frank wondered if Professor Irving kept those profiles for  _ everyone _ he met or just his contacts in the larger art world… and if he  _ did _ have a profile on Frank, what might it say? 

He chuckled to himself and pushed his thoughts back to Bree and what would be the best way to tell her about Professor Irving’s lead. 


	46. A Call to a Friend, Barnyard Chores, and Playing with Jewelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's out of town for the week so Claire and Brianna have some mother/daughter time to themselves.

Claire set her purse on the counter and slipped out of her shoes, then sighed and spent a few moments just listening to the quiet. 

It had been a busy day at the hospital, kind of day that looks straightforward on paper—one scheduled surgery and two patients in for post-op follow up appointments—but turns out to be the kind of day where one thing goes slightly wrong and the rest snowballs. 

The surgery had been an easy appendectomy. The patient had come in complaining of a severe stomach ache thinking he was suffering food poisoning, but they’d discovered the root cause quickly and it had given them time to plan and properly prepare. What they hadn’t anticipated was a hallway collision that resulted in the loss of their last on-sight units of B negative blood as the patient was being prepped. The delay in the start of the surgery had meant trying to bump up the post-op appointments so they would be done and out of the way  _ before _ the appendectomy and she would be able to leave in time to meet Brianna after school. 

Luckily, both patients could adjust their schedules to accommodate an earlier appointment, but the only time slot each could make was the same forty-five minute window. 

Miraculously, Claire had found a colleague who could take one of the two patients for her and, feeling guilty for having to ask such a favor, Claire told herself she was relieved that the patient he’d taken had walked out with a clean bill of health just twenty minutes later. The patient Claire had taken took closer to an hour. There was a slight infection and some possible internal scar tissue that made Claire nervous, so she’d drawn blood to run some labs and prescribed an antibiotic, and so on her day had progressed. 

She managed to escape precisely on time, despite the various professional setbacks and looking at the clock as she flexed her feet, Claire realized she even had a little time to kill before she needed to meet Brianna. 

It had been the sort of day at the hospital that truly caused Claire to miss Joe. She crossed to the telephone and negotiated with the operator until the international call went through. 

“Dr. Abernathy,” the voice on the other end of the line answered after four rings. She broke into a smile at the sound. 

“Joe, you’re in your office for a change,” she teased. 

“Lady Jane! I tell you it’s good to hear your voice again. And you’re lucky you caught me. I just finished my rounds and stopped back in to grab the surgical plan a tricky hernia I’m repairing this afternoon.”

She heard the creak of his chair and his exasperated sigh as Joe sat at his desk to enjoy the conversation. Swapping that perpetually squeaky chair from office to office while people were in surgery had been an ongoing prank among the surgical staff while she’d been there and apparently continued in the year and a half since she’d left. 

“I had routine appendectomy throw me for a loop earlier,” she commiserated. “Patient will be fine but there were issues with bleeding that made it trickier than it should have been.”

“You callin’ from the hospital?”

“From home, actually. I’m retrieving Brianna from school today. Jamie went with his boss and a few of the horses to a show of some sort out near Broch Mordha. Their events are on different days so they’re staying at Lallybroch and working on the house and grounds in the downtime between,” Claire explained. 

“That place going to be finished anytime soon? Gail wants an excuse to visit again.”

“Oh,  _ Gail _ wants to visit?”

“Thought Scotland was beautiful. And she misses you, especially at department parties.  _ I _ told her it’s your turn to come back stateside. Doesn’t your man what to see where you spent all those years?” Joe teased.

“Perhaps,” Claire said with a laugh, “but I’m not sure the flight would agree with his stomach. And we are in the middle of repairing that house we bought, the one you and Gail have an open invitation to stay in whenever you do decide to visit again.”

Joe laughed. “So it’s just you and Bree for a few days. How’s she doing? She handling Frank’s move well?”

“She’s definitely happier now he’s just a phone call away,” Claire admitted. “And I have to admit, it hasn’t been entirely terrible having him around to keep her busy so Jamie and I can have time to ourselves every so often. He’s going to have her down with him in Edinburgh for the weekend the week after next.”

“Sounds like you’re busy but making it all work,” Joe commented. “I’m proud of you, LJ, and happy for you too.”

“Thank you, Joe. Only way I could be happier here is if I still got to work with you at the hospital every day.”

“Well, get that hospital of yours to fork over the money to send you my way for a conference. Make one up if you have to,” he joked. 

“I doubt they’ll appreciate it when they know I’m likely to leave when my contract runs out in the spring. The commute from Lallybroch would be too impractical.”

“There a hospital out that way?”

“A smaller one that would be focused more on family health but with our plans, that’s about—Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! I need to get to pickup for Brianna! I’m so sorry Joe, but I have to run. I’ll call again soon for a longer catch up,” she promised as she strained to reach her shoe with her stockinged foot. 

“Thanks for the call, LJ,” Joe said. “I needed it today.”

“So did I, Joe. Take care.” 

Claire reluctantly hung up the phone and rushed to change out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable for fetching Brianna. Though MacDonald had someone feeding and exercising the horses that remained at his farm, Jamie had insisted before he left that Brianna was still going to be responsible for taking care of Thistle. He had also assured Claire that Brianna could handle the chore on her own and that she would only need to give the lass a ride and keep her company.

Arriving at the school for pickup, Claire felt out of place as she slipped in amongst the crowd of other gathered mothers. She had met a few of them who had children in Brianna’s class but most of them looked surprised (and perhaps, disappointed) to see her rather than Jamie. 

None of it mattered when she saw Brianna’s beaming face as she pushed through her classmates and their mothers to wrap herself excitedly around Claire’s middle. 

The first year they’d lived in Inverness, Brianna had been too self-conscious to do such a thing when Claire picked her up and was still too wary of Jamie when it was his turn. This exuberant Brianna was more like the one Claire had retrieved from the school bus stop on her first day of school in Boston only five years before, jumping past the bottom step and nearly dropping her lunch box as she laughed and babbled about her day barely pausing for breath. The memory made Claire chuckle as she squeezed Brianna back, her ruddy head reaching close to a foot higher than that day in Boston. 

“Are you gonna drive us or are we taking the bus like I do with Da?”

“We’ll drive. I was thinking we could do something special afterwards, just the two of us,” Claire hinted as she began guiding Brianna to the car. “It’s been a while since we were on our own. We could see a film or go somewhere special for dinner?”

Brianna nodded but said nothing, her enthusiasm for the novelty of Claire picking her up apparently gone.

“It doesn’t have to be either of those,” Claire continued. “Is there something you would like to do instead?”

Brianna pressed her lips together, at least one idea already churning in her mind. Her expression sent a pulse of fear flitting through Claire’s stomach. She hadn’t looked like a Fraser just then; she’d looked like a calculating Mackenzie of Leoch. 

“We’ll decide when you’ve finished your chores at the stable,” Claire announced as she unlocked the car and ushered Brianna inside. “For now, tell me about your day at school.”

Brianna chattered about her lessons the rest of the way to the farm—she had a spelling quiz the next week (which she worried about since “they spell things differently here,”)  as well as a report to finish for reading. When they got out of the car and Brianna started mucking Thistle’s stall, she switched from academics to the social interactions of her schooling. 

“When we move to Lallybroch, will I still be able to see Iona and Shona and Fiona?”

“You’ll be able to see them when we visit Inverness,” Claire assured her. “Bree, you are comfortable with the fact we’ll move to Lallybroch… aren’t you?”

Brianna had finished clearing out the soiled straw and wood shavings from Thistle’s stall and assembled the horse’s evening meal of hay and oats with water to wash them down. 

“We’re not going to move again after we get to Lallybroch, are we?” Brianna asked, grabbing the bridle she needed for retrieving Thistle from the paddock. Without Jamie there, Brianna could only let the horse run on her own while she worked in Thistle’s stall. Riding wasn’t something she was allowed to do without his supervision yet. 

“Of course not, Bree.”

“You promise?” Brianna pressed with an obvious note of doubt, her eyes intent on the bridle’s fastenings rather than look at her mother. 

“Bree, darling,” Claire said as she reached out and gently lifted Brianna’s chin so she would meet her eye. “I know you’ve had to say goodbye to a number of your friends this last few years and making new friends can be difficult, but I promise you we won’t be moving anywhere else once we’ve settled in at Lallybroch. It’s where your father and I always hoped we could be a family with you.”

“What about the hospital? You’re not gonna drive all the way there and back again every day when we move,” Brianna countered, not willing to accept Claire’s assurances yet. 

“I won’t work at the hospital in Inverness when we move. I’ll start my own family practice or perhaps they’ll need a doctor at the clinic in Broch Mordha,” Claire told her. 

“And Iona and Shona and Fiona will all be able to come visit overnight?”

“So long as it’s all right with their parents, they’ll be welcome to stay over, yes.”

Brianna nodded, wearing a more genuine smile. “Good.” She moved past Claire to the paddock and watched Thistle prancing about for a few more minutes before whistling for the horse to come get her supper.

Not long after Thistle finished eating, Claire and Brianna left wondering what they should do for their own supper.

“Do you want to go out somewhere?” Claire asked. “What about that restaurant you go to when Frank visits? It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to go there tonight,” Brianna responded, protectively.

“We could go somewhere fancier,” Claire suggested, moving away from something that might mar the evening. “Do you want to dress up? You can borrow some of my jewelry.”

Brianna smiled and nodded. It wasn’t the level of excitement Claire would have liked, but it wasn’t outright rejection either. 

“Which do you want to pick out first?” Claire asked as she closed the apartment door and set her purse on the nearby table. “Do you want to match your jewelry to your outfit or the other way round?”

“I want to see your jewelry first,” Brianna remarked, making a beeline for her parents’ bedroom.

By the time Claire made it through the door, Brianna already had Claire’s small wooden jewelry box open on the bed. She pulled out the drawstring bag with Ellen Mackenzie’s pearls and poured them into her cupped hand. 

“You’re not wearing those to dinner,” Claire said firmly and then when Brianna frowned she added, “but if you want to try them on and look in the mirror…”

Brianna set them down gently and then reached up to remove the gold locket she wore every day. Claire took it and examined it briefly. She hadn’t looked at it too closely before. Knowing it was something Frank had given to Brianna, she didn’t want to pry or impose on anything so private that was decidedly theirs. She closed her eyes, realizing why it was Brianna had rejected going to the first restaurant she’d suggested.

“I need help,” Brianna said and Claire set the locket aside. 

The necklace was too big for Brianna’s delicate throat but not for her smile. 

“I kinda look like the lady in the picture,” Brianna declared. “The one Da’s related to.”

Claire nodded. “You do.”

“She had earrings though.” Brianna reached up and tugged at her intact ear lobes then sighed. 

“You’re nearly eleven now… Do you still want your ears pierced?” Claire asked with mischief in her eyes.

Brianna’s eyes went wide as though she suspected a trap. “Yes… I do…”

“How about we stay in for dinner and instead, I pierce your ears for you?”

Somehow, Brianna’s eyes managed to widen further. “ _ You _ can do that?”

Claire reached for the jewelry box and began sifting through the earrings she had for a matched pair that would be appropriate for a young lady nearing eleven. “I’m a surgeon, sweetheart. Cutting holes in people is what I do for a living,” she teased, settling on a pair of small studs with golden orbs on the end—not too big and not too ostentatious. “We can go shopping tomorrow after you’ve taken care of Thistle and we’ll get you a pair all your own if you like.” She offered the simple pair of earrings to Brianna to inspect.

The girl’s face went red as she turned the studs over with her thumb in one hand and fingered the gold roundels of the pearl necklace with the other. “Can I keep these ones?” she asked in a nervous whisper.

“If you want them.” Claire rarely wore the jewelry she owned anyway, aside from her wedding ring and the small pearls she wore in her ears every day. She probably hadn’t worn that particular pair in over a year. “Now let’s gather what we’ll need.” 

They returned the pearl necklace to its pouch and the rest of the jewelry to the box. Brianna re-affixed her locket and tucked it down the front of her top, giving it an affectionate pat when it was back where it belonged. 

Claire watched Brianna begin to sweat with nerves as they went about sterilizing the tools that would be needed for Claire to pierce her ears but when the moment came, Brianna closed her eyes and ground her teeth as the needle went through one earlobe and then the other. 

When the bleeding had stopped and the redness was dissipating, Claire directed Brianna back to the mirror. 

“What do you think?” she asked, beaming over Brianna’s shoulder. “You’ll need to take care of them a lot these first few weeks while they heal, otherwise you could end up with an infection or the holes might close.”

“I will, Mama,” Brianna promised, tilting her head from side to side and holding her hair out of the way so she could see the way the gold caught the light. “I love them! Thank you,” she said, turning into an embrace. 

* * *

Brianna skipped to Claire the following afternoon as school let out, glancing over her shoulder at some of the other girls rushing to their mothers.

“You seem awfully pleased. Good day at school?” Claire asked, taking Brianna’s hand and leading her to the waiting car. 

“All the girls really like my new earrings. There are only two other girls in class who have pierced ears. I told the girls who don’t that you can pierce their ears if it’s all right with their parents.”

Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath as they got into the car. She told herself not to imagine the put out parents she would likely encounter at pick up the following day. The possibility of disgruntled and judgemental parents had her second guessing what Jamie’s reaction would be, and Frank’s. Brianna very clearly wasn’t concerned with either, making it easier for Claire to instead focus on the pride in her daughter’s voice as she bragged about what her mother could do that the other girls’ mothers couldn’t (or wouldn’t).


	47. Meeting in Perth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire take the train with Brianna to drop her off with Frank for a weekend.

When Jamie came home from his week away, Brianna ran hug him and then pulled back, not so subtly turning her head so he could see her newly pierced ears.

Jamie’s eyes went wide and it took just long enough for him to find his words that Claire caught his eye over Brianna’s shoulder first. The look she gave him was all that was necessary for him to react with the enthusiasm and approval that Brianna expected. 

After Brianna had fastidiously cleaned her ears and gone to bed, Claire was able to ask Jamie what he thought of their daughter’s piercings. 

“I wasna expecting ye to do it when I was gone like that,” he mused as they nestled on the love seat, Claire leaning back into his chest. He had his arm draped over her shoulder and she’d captured his hand, weaving their fingers together. “If ye’d asked me before, I’d like have said she was too young for it… but they’re no so frivolous or foolish as I had in my mind. And the lass is beaming wi’ pride.”

Claire sighed and smiled, quietly relieved that he hadn’t taken a disapproving stance. 

“She absolutely loves them. Every morning she’s insisted on having her hair braided to be sure everyone can see them.”

Jamie chuckled and played with the hair near Claire’s ears. “They’re makin’ her hold her head high and it makes her look more’n more like you, Sassenach.”

“I’m a little worried about what Frank will make of them,” Claire confessed. “She mentioned wanting them pierced a few times in Boston and he was rather free with his opinions on the subject. Apparently pierced ears are fine for married women but not growing girls.”

“I suppose we’ll learn what he makes of them Friday when we take Bree to meet him on the train,” Jamie murmured, the tip of his nose caressing the shell of Claire’s ear, his breath tickling her. “Then it’s you and I to Lallybroch for the last of the larger repairs.”

“You and Ewan really got that much finished this week?” Claire asked, still in disbelief that the work on the house was progressing so quickly.

“Aye, well, the structural repairs will be through soon—that what needs doing before winter. The roof doesna leak any more, the broken windows have been replaced, there’s a new door wi’ a better lock. But inside… MacDonald said we’ll need work done on ‘the pipes’—I think he was referring to yer plumbing and hot baths.”

“ _ My _ plumbing?” Claire repeated with a laugh. “So anything to do with running water is somehow mine?”

“Ye did nearly choose them over me. If they mean as much to ye as that, then ye’re welcome to them,” Jamie teased. Claire had brought their joined hands closer to her and Jamie’s thumb was long enough for the tip to just barely reach the curve of her breast. 

“What else inside will need more work?”

“He said the stove needs replacing but I dinna see as going without would be so great a hardship. There’s plenty of hearths for cooking till then—and wood for heating until the furnace can be examined and repaired or replaced.”

“You’re my own personal furnace,” Claire murmured, arching against him and leaning her head back and onto his shoulder. 

He hummed against her throat causing her to break into gooseflesh. 

“Is there anything left for us to do there other than wait for repairmen?” Claire asked.

“I can think of a few things,” Jamie said, catching her earlobe with his teeth and toying with her pearl earring using his tongue. 

“The more general cleaning and decorating, I suppose. We’ll need to decide what sort of furniture we want where and paint or paper for the walls…” 

“Much as I’ve missed you and Bree these last days… I dinna regret that the lass will be away wi’ Frank and I’ll have a turn with ye all to myself.”

“Let’s take this into the other room and you can have me as many times as you can manage right now.” Claire started to push up so she could stand but Jamie shifted beneath her and swept her up into his arms. 

“As many as I can manage? That sounds like a challenge,” he purred. 

“If that’s how you want to see it,” Claire whispered before pulling Jamie’s mouth to hers.

Jamie nearly walked them into the wall in his haste. He pushed the door closed behind them with his foot, muffling the sound of their laughter as he dropped Claire onto the bed and began peeling her from her clothes.

* * *

“No, Mama,” Brianna chastised impatiently, running her fingers through her hair and undoing the plaiting Claire had been working on while she kept one eye on Jamie. “I want it to be a French braid.”

“I’m sorry darling,” Claire said. Jamie’s eyes were closed, his head rested against the top of the seat but the leg of his trousers was clenched tightly in his fist and every so often she thought she saw him pinching the flesh of his thigh. “I can’t really do a French braid right now, though. I don’t have the right brush and it’s difficult with the train moving so much.”

Jamie muttered something under his breath about the movement of the train but cut himself off to take a sharp breath.

Brianna sighed with resignation. “Fine. A boring, regular braid then.”

“How about I do a boring, regular braid but loop it into a bun? It’ll make you look even more grown up,” Claire suggested. 

It was different enough to appease Brianna and took only a few moments and a few hairpins from Claire’s purse to accomplish.

While Brianna examined the finished results using her reflection in the window, Claire turned to Jamie to see how he was managing. 

“It’s no so bad as boats,” he mumbled, “but it’s no something I should like to do often.”

“I’m surprised,” Claire confessed. “You did well enough with the Underground when we visited London and you’ve gotten so much better about riding in cars.”

“Those stop. Frequently. Or ye can pull the car off to the side when ye need to,” Jamie theorized. 

“Well, we’re nearly there and we can change our tickets for the ride back if you need a longer rest but it will mean getting to Lallybroch even later.”

“I’ll do,” he assured Claire, releasing the fistful of trouser fabric to take and squeeze Claire’s hand instead. “But if there’s another time this is necessary, I think I’ll let ye accompany Bree on yer own.”

“I told you I didn’t need you to come with me,” Brianna said, leaving her reflection alone and joining her parents’ conversation. “Daddy’s meeting us halfway anyway so it’s not that far and I’m practically eleven now.”

“And maybe next time we will let you make the journey on your own,” Claire told her daughter, making sure to use the tone that would brook no cheek in response. “But that will depend on how well you handle yourself  _ this _ time when we’re here too. You might be old enough to have your ears pierced now but that doesn’t mean you’re old enough to go all the way to Perth unaccompanied.”

Brianna’s face flushed with indignation and temper but she kept her mouth shut and turned back to the window. She propped her elbow on the arm rest and propped her chin in her hand, then rolled her eyes at her reflection, the fire of her dissatisfaction quickly evaporating as she became distracted by the angle of her head and the way having her braid wrapped up in an bun displayed her neck and decorated ears. 

Jamie squeezed Claire’s hand again and she turned to find him giving her a reassuring smile even as the train lurched and he swallowed hard. She rested her head on his shoulder and readjusted her hold of his hand, tracing the scars and mishealed joints and massaging the muscles and tendons that worked so hard around the obstacles of those old injuries. Jamie sighed and relaxed and they passed most of the rest of the ride in near silence. 

Frank’s train had arrived before theirs so he was waiting on the platform as they pulled in. 

Brianna pushed past Claire and Jamie as they rose from their seats and retrieved the small bag they’d packed for her weekend stay. 

“Daddy!” she cried, skipping the final step and jumping to the platform so she could run into Frank’s arms. “Look, look, look!” She pulled back and turned her head from side to side, showing him her earrings. 

“You’ve… pierced your ears,” Frank responded stiffly, glancing to Claire and Jamie who had disembarked and waited a few feet away, Brianna’s bag in one of Jamie’s hands, his other arm around Claire’s shoulders. 

“Mama did them for me,” Brianna said excitedly. “She said I can keep these earrings too.”

“Oh she did, did she?” Frank’s eyes sought Claire’s again and with a jolt, Claire remembered where she got those earrings. 

They’d been a late gift from Frank to mark an anniversary they’d missed celebrating together because of the war. She’d worn them for the eighteen hours they had together before she had to leave to return to the front. She’d had them sent to Uncle Lamb for safekeeping and had found them again with the rest of her and Lamb’s things upon her return but hadn’t worn them again until after Brianna was born. 

“Do you like them?” Brianna asked Frank, her smile bright and sure of his response.

“They make you look quite the young lady,” he answered with a smile that was slightly forced but Brianna saw what she wanted to see and took his hand pulling him to her mother and Jamie to retrieve her bag. 

“We all have some time to kill and I’m rather hungry,” Claire remarked. “Why don’t we go find a bite to eat?”

Jamie and Frank’s eyes met, feeling each other out, but Brianna jumped at the suggestion.

“I’m  _ starving _ ,” she proclaimed. “Come on. There has to be something to eat here.” 

Brianna dragged Frank along the platform while Claire and Jamie followed a few steps behind, Claire squeezing Jamie’s hand where it rested on her shoulder in quiet apology and receiving the same in response to signal it was unnecessary.

They found a pub near the station that, fortunately, was only half-full and appeared well-staffed. 

Brianna led them to a booth urging Frank to sit with her on one side while Claire and Jamie took the other, Claire sitting across from Frank. 

“How’s your stomach?” Claire whispered to Jamie as she raised her menu—a barrier between her and Frank. “Do you feel well enough to eat?”

“I’ll do,” Jamie answered quietly but firmly, his eyes not even straying to the upper corner of his own menu where there was a chance he might look past the edge and find himself locking eyes with Frank.

“What can I get for ye then?” the waitress asked, coming up to their table. 

They went around ordering, mostly soups and sandwiches as the menu was limited. Thankfully, they were assured their food wouldn’t take long and she’d be back with their drinks. 

“Do you have any special plans for this weekend?” Claire asked, addressing Brianna but also glancing to Frank. “Or are they a secret?” she teased. 

Brianna looked to Frank who gave her a playful smile of his own. “I have a surprise rather than a secret. And it’s not something to do.”

Brianna frowned. “What is it?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” he replied, holding firm. 

Brianna rolled her eyes and there was a brief awkward moment of silence before Frank cleared his throat. 

“How is the farm, then?” he asked Jamie. “The horses, that is.”

Jamie looked up and met Frank’s eye, blinking, stunned. “They’re fine. We had a show some of the past week and it went well.”

“Good,” Frank said with a stiff nod. 

Jamie looked to Claire, still blinking but otherwise unmoving, as though twitching or shifting a fraction of an inch might upset whatever balance they’d achieved. 

“And the house you’re restoring. What was it called?” Frank continued, maintaining the polite, if a little tense, conversation.

“Lallybroch,” Claire answered. 

“It was in my family for a long time,” Jamie explained, though he was confident either Claire or Brianna would have already informed Frank of the fact. “It’s taking a bit of work to bring it back but it’s good to see it again.”

“It should be finished sometime in the spring,” Claire added. 

“You’ll come and see it when it’s done, Daddy, won’t you?” Brianna said enthusiastically. “Once Thistle’s there. I can give you a tour of the grounds. There’s not much to them now, but Da showed me where a bunch of the old farm buildings used to be and there’s a tower nearby—well, some of it’s fallen down a bit so we’re not allowed inside, but you can still walk around outside it—and there’s a graveyard where Da’s ancestors are buried…” Brianna prattled on, oblivious to the fact that her mother’s hand had found Jamie’s under the table and found it trembling. She also missed the color that rose in Frank’s cheeks as he carefully kept his attention on Brianna while Claire’s smile strained and Jamie concentrated on keeping his breathing even. 

“That all sounds… wonderful, dear,” Frank told her when Brianna finally paused long enough for a response.

Claire looked to Jamie who closed his eyes and gave the smallest of nods. 

“You’re right, Bree. Daddy will have to come see Lallybroch for himself after we’ve finished fixing it and we’ve resettled there,” Claire said with a smile that became genuine when she remembered to mention, “I actually spoke with Joe about it the other day. He and Gail want to come visit again but not until they can see Lallybroch.” She turned to Jamie whose hand was gratefully squeezing hers. “We’ll have enough room at the house for a few guests and there’s an inn at Broch Mordha right nearby for anyone who can’t stay at the house itself. We can make a weekend of it and invite Reverend Wakefield and Mrs. Graham…”

“Can some of my friends come too?” Brianna asked, getting excited though there were still many months before they’d have completed the renovations and move. 

“Of course, darling,” Claire assured her. A quick glance to Frank showed him looking more relaxed at the idea of having a small crowd to blend into or keep between himself and Jamie. 

“Then I suppose it’s settled,” Jamie said with a quiet and resigned smile. “Bree can work on planning a wee gathering while we plan what needs be done first.” 

“We can have American food and party games,” Brianna began, running through every idea that popped into her mind and monopolizing the conversation enough for the three adults to retreat into a strained silence that only relaxed when their food arrived and chewing negated the need for all further discussion. 

Mercifully the waitress offered and was quickly able to split their check, resolving the issue of payment before any awkwardness could occur. 

Brianna hugged Jamie and Claire each goodbye as Frank gave each a parting nod, and then they hurried off to the platform where their train was scheduled to arrive in another ten minutes. Jamie and Claire’s return train would pull in five minutes after the other departed so they lingered near the pub until Frank and Brianna had turned the corner. Then Claire leaned into Jamie’s side as they meandered hand in hand along the sidewalk taking a longer route back to the station. 

“That wasn’t as painful as it might have been,” Claire mused. 

“It does get a little easier each time. He doesna put me in mind of Jack Randall so much now,” he confessed. 

“Small blessings.” 

“Aye. We’ll see if that holds true when I watch him walk through the gate at Lallybroch,” Jamie said doubtfully. 

Claire squeezed his arm again and they let the subject drop. 

“I’ve started making inquiries about the clinic in Broch Mordha and what they might have in the way of open positions,” Claire informed him as they strolled along.


End file.
